


Come Back to Me

by emraldmoon



Series: Come Back to Me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bucky - Freeform, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Captain America - Freeform, Colonel James Rhodes - Freeform, Comfort, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, Iron Man - Freeform, IronDad and SpiderSon, Irondad, James Barnes - Freeform, James Rhodes - Freeform, Kidnapped Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Rhodey - Freeform, Scarlet Witch - Freeform, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff - Freeform, White Wolf - Freeform, Whump, colonel rhodes - Freeform, falcon - Freeform, iron patriot - Freeform, natasha romanov - Freeform, peter parker recovery, sam wilson - Freeform, spiderman - Freeform, spiderson, war machine, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emraldmoon/pseuds/emraldmoon
Summary: After weeks of searching, Tony and Steve finally rescue Peter from his kidnappers. Though, the Peter they find is not the same one they lost two months ago.





	1. Chapter 1

The scraping of the heavy metal door woke Peter, and he scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, assuming a compliant position - tall back, shoulders straight, head down. Ready to do whatever’s asked of him, but no eye contact. Never any eye contact. It’s what they’ve been drilling into him from day one. His first lesson, Rule One, remembered by the pain in his left wrist.

Peter flinched when he felt something hit his cheek. _A tear_ , he realized with a start. He scrambled to wipe it off his cheek before his captors came into the cell. It was another one of his earliest lessons - no shows of emotion of any kind. Rule Four. Frankly, he was surprised he had broken the rule. It had been weeks since his last tear. He had grown used to ignoring it - these feelings, these wishes that things were different, these hopes for rescue. After the first few weeks in captivity, he had understood that he was stuck there, and he just had to deal with it.

The first time he was thrown into the cell about two months ago, he attempted to break through the walls. After all, his superstrength should’ve at least made a _dent_.

It didn’t.

Every day, he punched the same spot on the wall. Over and over and over, just trying to make a mark, to break through. Over time, those punched turned to light slaps - too weak to even form a fist. To this day, there was still no mark.

A sudden bright light illuminated the room from the now open door. Peter flinched under the harsh light, like every morning they did this. (At least, he assumed it was the morning. He hadn’t seen the outside world in weeks, not even through a window. He had forgotten what the sky looked like at this point. Was it a baby blue, or more of a navy?) Peter shut his eyes compliantly, waiting for the sack to be shoved over his head and for rough hands to guide him out of the room.

But it never came.

Peter stood, in his scratchy pants and rough tank his captors had given him the night before, his feet bare, and tried his hardest not to shiver as he stood there, quietly, waiting. He desperately wanted to open his eyes, to see why his captors were hesitating this time, but his left wrist throbbed, reminding him of the one time he made the mistake of looking his captors in the face. Rule One.

A voice startled him so deeply out of his thoughts, he almost jumped before remembering Rule Four.

“Peter?” the voice mumbled quietly. Just by that one word, Peter already knew the voice belonged to some kind of authority figure. Someone strong, a leader of… something. Peter wondered why he was even being _spoken_ to. Usually, there was no communication in his room - only that when he was brought to the secondary location. But he still didn’t break a Rule.

“Oh, Pete,” the voice spoke again. _Pete?_ What was that? Why were they using a new nickname? He had never heard his captors use it before. Peter tried to decipher a degrading meaning within it, or even in the way the voice _spoke_. But as much as he tried, he still couldn’t decipher anything about the voice. Anything besides compassion, because obviously, that wasn’t the situation here. It never was.

“Peter, can you look at me?”

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. Oh, so _this_ was what they were doing. A trick. Trying to get him to break a Rule. Rule One, nonetheless. Peter wasn’t going to fall for it. He wasn’t getting any more pain on his skin. Any more punishments.

“Pete, say something.” Rule Four. Peter stood still.

A new voice called from behind the first one and Peter’s heartbeat quickened at the urgency in it.

“Tony, did you find Peter?”

 _Tony?_ Why were his captors being so open? Peter hadn’t heard a single name (besides his own nicknames) in the last two months. His captors were never dumb enough to give up a piece of their identities.

“Well, yes, but - Steve…” The first voice trailed off as footsteps approached. _Great_ , Peter thought. A second guard. And with all the waiting Peter has been doing? What were they about to do to him? His breath quickened in wary anticipation.

“Peter?” a newer, deeper voice called. Why were they using his name all of a sudden? “Why - why isn’t he responding?”

There was a shifting of fabric, and then the first voice again. “I’m not sure. He’s just been… _standing_ there since I opened the door. Hasn’t moved a muscle.” A sigh. The words that followed were a whisper. “Steve, what’ve they done to our kid?”

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. _Our kid._ Our… _kid_?

Steve.

Tony.

All at once, it hit him.

_Oh, my gosh._

_My dads._

_They came back!_

_They… came back_?

A flair of hope flickered in his chest. But it was extinguished by the thought that came next.

_Why… why didn’t they come sooner?_

The thought that followed next startled even Peter.

Open your eyes.

See if it’s real.

Defy a Rule.

Peter’s heart began to race. Well, it was either face punishment, or risk missing your dads. Peter made a choice.

With a steadying breath, Peter slowly cracked open his eyes.

The light startled him again, but that wasn’t why he gasped. There, silhouetted against the glowing bulbs of the hallway, were two men, their figures so easily identifiable, so recognizable to Peter. The two figures that used to represent _home_.

But now, they just represented confusion.

 _It’s a trick_ , a voice in his head coaxed. _A test. You failed. You broke a Rule, and now you will be punished for it._

Suddenly, the smaller man - _Tony_ \- begin hurrying to Peter, and he scrambled back, his inner voice taking over his entire mental state, repeating like a broken record.

_You broke a Rule. You broke a Rule. You broke a Rule. You broke a Rule._

Peter tripped over something at his feet in his haste to get away and he fell, his head making a sickening crack against the wall behind him. He had forgotten how small the room was.

The man stopped halfway between the door and where Peter was huddled against the wall, Steve slowly walking to join him. Peter shook his head back and forth, clutching his knees to his chest, tears freely flowing from his eyes as he gripped the skin on his opposite wrist tight. He shut his eyes tightly, but he feared punishment was already on its way.

_Rule One. No eye contact._

_Rule Three. No escaping._

_Rule Four. No emotion._

Oh, he was _screwed_.

“Shit -”

“Language,” Steve commented halfheartedly, years of conditioning clashing against the worry about his son’s predicament.

“Peter, it’s - it’s me. It’s Tony, your Dad. Your annoying Pops is here too.”

_“Tony.”_

“Oh, be quiet, Steve.”

“Shh. Hold on.” Another shifting of fabric. “Peter?” The voice was quieter this time - and closer. Peter’s blood ran cold. This punishment - oh, this punishment was going to be the worst he had had in _weeks_. And the last of his flayed skin was just beginning to heal back, too.

“Peter, it’s me, your Pops.” A hesitation. “I’m here, ok? I’m right here. You’re safe now, alright? We got you, your Dad and I.” Peter didn’t respond. He was focused on staying as still as possible. His knees were still stuck to his chest and his eyes were squeezed shut - he was too frozen in fear to remove them - but he fought not to shake or shiver. Rule Four.

“Peter, please open your eyes. You’re safe now. We’ll make sure of it.”

The first voice pitched in - again, closer than before. “Come on, kid. It’s Iron Man and Captain America. Don’t you trust us?”

Oh, no. They - they _weren’t going away_ . Shit. Shit. Shit. He - he _had_ to open his eyes. Or they wouldn’t leave him alone. Okay. _Okay._ He’s been handling punishments every day for the last two months. What was one more?

 _Well, it depends what the ‘one more’ is_ , the voice in his head spoke up again.

Peter couldn’t find it in him to ignore the voice, and all the forms of torture they had used on him repeated themselves in his head as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Beltsfirekniveselectricitywaterropeschainsdirtoxygenhooksglassbeltsfirekniveselecticitywaterropeschainsdirtoxygenhooksglass

But whatever they were going to do was going to happen anyways. So, with his heart racing, Peter opened his eyes.

The two faces of the men he had seen before - his parents, he realized with a jolt that he didn’t think of that first - were looming just before his, staring with an intensity that wanted him to curl up again. But he didn’t. Because he was stronger than that.

In reality, he was frozen. Frozen in fear.

“Pete?” the smaller one - Tony, Peter remembered - said softly, gauging his reaction. Other than that, he was quiet. And Peter realized it was his turn to talk.

Shit.

He opened his mouth and closed it once, twice, three times, again, again againagain as his voice repeated the words over and over in his head.

Rule Five. No speaking. Rule Five. No speaking. Rule Five. Rule Five. Rule Five.

But he _had_ to obey. He had to - to please him. What were the names he used to call them?

Rulefiverulefiverulefiverulefiverulefive

Quietly, he spoke up, his voice shaking and rough with disuse.

“Dad?”

Punishmentpunishmentpunishmentpunishmentpunishment

He almost jumped at the sound of his own voice. He didn’t recognize it when it wasn’t screaming or pleading for mercy.

Beltsfirekniveselectricitywaterropeschainsdirtoxygenhooksglass

Peter’s brows furrowed in disbelief when the men - his dads - smiled at the sound of his voice. They weren’t - they weren't reaching for a tool? A belt or a - a stick or something?

“Yeah,” Tony whispered, nodding his head as his face broke out in a smile. “Yeah, kid, it’s me.”

Peter’s eyes were wide, still disbelieving at the lack of violence as he turned his gaze to the larger man - Steve - whose face was one mirroring Tony’s.

Rulefiverulefiverulefive

“Pops?”

Punishmentpunishmentpunishment

“Yeah.” If it was possible, Steve’s smile got even wider. “Yeah, buddy, I’m here.”

At once, the two men pushed forwards, their arms outstretched. Peter shoved himself back and his head hit the wall again, his vision momentarily blacking out.

Dangerpunishmentdangerpunishmentgetawaygetawaygetaway

Peter winced as he moved a hand to the back of his head. When he drew it away he was surprised to see it wet and coated in red.

But he didn’t feel any pain.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice shouted from in front of him, worried. Peter just shook his head.

“M’okay,” he muttered, and immediately clasped a hand to his mouth, eyes wide, probably leaving a red print on his cheek - but he didn’t care.

_Rule Five._

Oh, shit. _Oh, shit. Ohshitohsitohshit_ -

But he cut himself off. Because Steve doesn’t like swearing. And now Steve was going to punish him. And Tony.

“Peter, you - you can speak,” Steve assured, concerned, but Peter just kept shaking his head, his mouth moving, no sound coming out. _Nonononononononono_

Tony sighed. “Alright kid, let’s just - let’s just go home, alright? Come on. Stand up.”

Peter’s brain shut down, and in a moment, he was on his feet - tall back, shoulders straight, head down. Obey. Obey. Obeyobeyobeyobeyob-

“Oh - _gosh_ , kid. You - _geez_.” Tony clutched a hand to his chest as he slowly pushed himself up to his feet. “What - why are you standing like that?” Peter stayed silent. He had disobeyed so much already. He couldn’t risk any more.

“Oh, Pete,” Steve sighed.

“What? What’s going o- what’s he doing?”

“He’s obeying orders,” Steve muttered, sounding defeated.

“But I didn’t -” Peter flinched at the sudden outburst and Tony went quiet immediately. Peter felt their eyes burning into the top of his bowed head. Rule Four. Rule Four, Rule Four, Rule-

“I didn’t _order_ him to do _anything_ ,” Tony said, openly stressed, but quieter.

“It must’ve sounded like an order to him, Tony.”

Quiet again.

“What did they do to you, kid?” Tony’s voice whispered, and Peter felt another tear trail down his cheek. He didn’t make a move to stop it, because that would’ve broken a Rule - but Peter couldn’t remember which one. Too much confusion. _Too. Much_.

His eyes stayed focused on the ground between his feet as the tear dropped off his cheek and his thoughts were racing so fast, he almost missed the words that came next.

“You’re safe now, kid. We won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, okay?”

Peter wanted to trust him. His gut clenched with the _need_ to believe him, to feel _safe_ again.

But as much as he wanted to…

He couldn’t.

And he feared he would never feel safe again.

◊ ◊ ◊

The ride home was one unlike the family of three had experienced before. Tony had accompanied Peter in the back while Steve drove, Tony breaking his “I drive myself” rule because Peter had priority, like always. Is there any time he wouldn’t?

It took a lot of coaxing to even get Peter out of the room, nevermind in the car. It was late noon now, but after a lot of fearful eyes and flinches, here they sat, pulling the car away from the abandoned warehouse.

Peter’s captors must’ve been warned about Tony and Steve’s coming, as they had already left the scene by the time the pair had arrived. Tony had vowed, supported by Steve, that he would kill them. He would _kill_ them - rip them limb from limb for what they had done to Peter. And with every flinch and every shiver, that feeling only intensified - but Tony had fought his absolute hardest to keep those thoughts hidden. He couldn’t let them show, for fear of scaring Peter - the kid had been through so much already.

Steve obviously shared the feelings. Those people had done terrible things to his kid, and of _course_ he was going to get them back, for Peter - but he was much more reserved. Peter’s safety and his well being always came first. And right now, he needed comfort and stability over revenge and violence - and Steve was going to provide that for him.

The windows were rolled down all the way when at first Peter refused to get in the car - it was too small, Steve guessed the reason to be, and it reminded him of his cell. Steve shuddered whenever he heard that word. He _hated_ thinking of his kid, his sweet, innocent Peter, locked away and caged like - like an _animal_. He just couldn’t -  he refused to think about it. And so he volunteered to drive. The newly-registered driver needed practise on the road, and therefore couldn’t afford to talk or focus on anything besides the wheel in his hands or the pedals beneath his feet. And that was beneficial at a time like this.

Tony easily allowed him to take the wheel, instead choosing to sit in the back with Peter. He wanted to be there, to be able to comfort his kid - though he didn’t seem to be able to do anything _right_. The kid had been curled up in the seat against the window - he had been since they first got in the car - and his eyes kept looking at the world as it passed by outside. It looked to Tony like he wanted to press his face against the glass and gawk, but something was holding him back.

Tony wished he knew what.

“Hey, Pete-” Tony cut himself off when Peter quickly sat up, arms at his side, sitting stiffly in his chair with his head tilted towards Tony, his eyes focused on the seat just between them.

“Oh - gosh, kid, don’t - you don’t have to do that, I -” Tony clutched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. They had trained his kid to react like a _dog_. He got his kid back, yes - but at what cost?

The next sound that reached his ears made him flinch.

“I’m sorry.”

It was quiet, barely even there, and if Tony didn’t know his kid’s voice so well, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did.

Tony froze in his chair, brows furrowed, and watched his kid, who hadn’t moved from his previous position. Steve looked back at them from the front mirror, his mouth agape, and turned back to watch the road as he waited for Tony’s response.

His voice took on a tone very few heard from the great Tony Stark.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Peter,” he said gently, as Peter’s shoulders began to shake. _He’s crying_ , Tony realized with a jolt. “Hey. Peter, _hey_.” He reached out with a gentle hand to touch his kid’s shoulder, but retracted it like he’d been burnt when Peter jolted so violently away the car shook.

Peter had learned to not react when he was under the control of his captors, but now, with these men, it’s like he wasn’t strong enough to hold off his fear receptors anymore. He had gone long enough without punishment - only a few hours, but that was like an eternity in his book - that he had grown tired of fighting. He _wanted_ to feel scared. Wanted to run away and to _cry_ . He hadn’t been able to cry in _so. Long._ And now that he was finally given the chance, well….

Tony was leaning away from Peter, his hands held up, palms out, to prove he meant no harm, and was worriedly watching his kid as he caught his breaths on the opposite side of the car, his shoulders only shaking more violently, quiet gasps coming from his lips and gentle sobs wracking his body. Tony’s heart was crushed at the sight. He had spent _two months_ without his kid, and when he had _finally_ figured out where he was, with the help of Natasha’s investigative skills, he had been so excited to _finally_ hold him again in his arms. To run his fingers through his curls and tell him, _It’s okay. I’ve got you._

He never would’ve expected that he would’ve received _this_ . His kid, but… _not_. His Peter, who was always bright and smiling and laughing and happy, who was always joyous and snarky and defiant and proud, beaten down to nothing. To this estranged and dissociated soul, this obedient, submissive character who scrambled from danger. The thought didn’t even cross Tony’s mind that Peter would be safer now that he ran from danger. He just wanted his kid back. His reckless, idiotic, self-sacrificing kid.

But he feared he would never get him back now.

As Tony made eye contact with Steve’s teary eyes in the rearview mirror, he mentally slapped himself. He _would_ get his Peter back. Him and Steve. They would pour love and care into this kid and they would _help_ him. They would do whatever it took to get him back, and they wouldn’t stop until he was their bundle of energy again.

He just hoped they wouldn’t be too late.

Steve cleared his throat. Tony’s distraught eyes refocused on his bleary ones in the mirror again. _Say something._

_What?_

Steve rolled his eyes at his partner’s idiocy. He loved his partner, but sometimes he could be so _dense_.

_Comfort him._

_How?_

Steve raised his eyebrows at Tony, who just shrugged in response. Steve sighed and turned back to the road, and Tony did the same, but towards Peter. He guessed he was on his own now.

“Hey, kid?” Peter’s sobs halted immediately, and Tony thought carefully before choosing his next words. “I’m not - _ordering_ you to do anything, alright? I’m just asking.” A pause. “Could you turn to look at me, please?” When Peter didn’t move immediately, Tony waited patiently. He would wait for his kid. As long as it took.

Steve cast a quick glance over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Peter slowly begin to untangle himself from his own embrace, just enough to reposition himself towards Tony. His arms were still loosely clutching his legs and his eyes downcast, but it was a start. _This is progress_ , Steve thought. _This is a start._

Tony couldn’t help but unknowingly agree as a smile played on his lips as well.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured softly. He tried not to let it bother him that Peter still wasn’t making eye contact - first, he had to get past the whole _ordering_ thing. Again, he thought over his words. “Peter, you’re safe now, okay?” he started slowly, waiting after every few words to gouge Peter’s reaction, to make sure he wasn’t saying the wrong thing. “Your Pops and I, we’ll protect you. We won’t let anyone hurt you again, okay? We’ll keep you safe.” There was still no reaction from Peter. Tony was about to try again when he realized the car had stopped, and Steve had turned around in his seat to join in the conversation. Peter’s lack of a reaction had led Tony to believe he hadn’t noticed they had stopped.

“Peter?” he added quietly. Peter’s eyes flickered up for just a second - probably startled at the change of voice, Steve thought - before resuming his previous position. “I want you to know, that we love you, okay?” Tony was in awe at how easy it came to Steve to be able to say something so bold, and so - _in tune_ with his emotions. Tony was better at seeing the kid for a few hours each day - ruffling his hair, snarky sarcastic comments, that kind of stuff. Tender communication? _So_ not his category. But he would learn, for Peter.

“We love you, and we care for you, and, like your dad said, we’ll protect you,” Steve continued, his intent eyes never once leaving the matted, tangled curls of his son. “We’ll always be there for you no matter what. It’s okay if it takes you a little longer to recover, because we’ll be there to support you, alright? We’ll never leave you.”

Tony felt the need to say something, to add on to such an extravagant speech - so, in typical snarky Stark fashion, he added on, “Yeah, kid, we’re not going anywhere. You’d have to drown us in a river to get rid of us.”

Peter’s eyes flashed up, wide as saucers, his knuckles growing white around his knees as he shoved himself back against the door of the car. He brought his hands up to his hair and grabbed at them, tightening fists around his curls, and started pulling. Shudders wracked his body as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently.

 _No_ , he mouthed, wanted to scream but nothing coming out. _No, no, no_ \- There was a pressure on his chest that increased with every gasp. _No, no, no, no, no-_

Tony and Steve instantly rushed forwards and reached for Peter’s wrists and began to yank them out of his hair, not caring how much he pulled away or fought. They’d have to work harder to gain his trust after this episode, and how rough they were being with him, but it didn’t matter, because right now he was _hurting_ himself.

They detangled his fingers from his curls, surprised at how easily it was, how weak his superstrength had become.

“Kid, hey. _Peter_ ,” Tony spoke sternly as his kid thrashed around, one wrist in Tony’s hand, the other hand in Steve’s, holding tight. “Peter, you’re going to _hurt yourself_ .” But the kid continued to thrash, hitting his head against the window, his back against the seat, and Tony couldn’t have even guessed what was going on. What had gone wrong. What _he_ had done wrong.

He hated himself for what he was about to do. He just hoped Peter could forgive him.

“Peter, stop right now. Look at me,” he ordered, forcing his voice to be strong; but he couldn’t hold it towards the end, and it began to falter. Peter froze, mid-swing, heavy breaths causing his shoulders to rise and fall, his face largely flushed. His eyes quickly rose to meet Tony’s, wide in fear - of what, Tony didn’t want to guess. Tony knew, he saw it in Peter’s eyes, that he _desperately_ wanted to look away, to look anywhere other than Tony, but it was an order. And he _had_ to obey, said Rule Seven, the constant reminder sitting just between his collar bones.

Tony saw Steve’s defeated look in his peripherals, and he couldn’t help but feel the same way. His chest was rising and falling drastically after what he just had to do. He just had to _restrain_ his own kid and _order_ him to obey.

And Peter _did_.

“Gosh, Peter, what did they do to you?” Tony didn’t mean to say that out loud, but honestly, he didn’t care that he did. He was mad. He was _livid_ at the world, at the cruel, cruel world for doing this to his innocent kid. Peter hadn’t done a _thing_ to anyone; he wouldn’t even hurt a fly. He didn’t deserve this, not in the slightest.

And Tony wanted to yell.

He wanted to scream out at the world, _Why? Why would you hurt my kid?_

But alas, as much as he wished it hadn’t happened, it had.

And now Tony and the love of his life Steve were left to pick up the pieces of the broken soul of their son. And he knew Steve would agree when he says that they would stop at nothing to get their kid back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is reintroduced to the rest of the Avengers, but one presence causes him to spiral.

“You okay, kid?” Tony asked quietly, looking into Peter’s eyes, trying to judge what he saw there. There were definite traces of fear, and Tony desperately wanted to know what he was frightened of.

But a separate, smaller part of him, was worried about what he would find.

“Yes, Sir,” Peter said, his voice shaking. Tony watched him sadly as he released his wrists, and gave a pointed look to Steve, telling him to do the same. Tony hated to see he had bruised his kid’s wrist as he clutched it to his chest. Peter saw him looking, and his breath quickened as he dropped it back to his side and sat up straighter, tears beginning to glisten in his eyes.

“Peter, don’t-” Steve cut him off by clearing his throat.

“Peter, sweetie?” Peter’s eyes quickly flashed to him, breath quickening.  _ Sweetie _ . He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at that nickname and fought against the tears in his eyes to look Steve in the eye.

“Honey, can you tell us what set you off?”

“Set me off, Sir?”

Tony flinched at the name, but Steve didn’t seem bothered.

“Yeah, what caused you to… panic like that?”

Peter’s eyes flashed with remembrance and his breath caught in his throat, but he fought through it. He was asked a question, and he had to answer.

He struggled to find words, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound escaped. Finally, he managed to string together, “I - it - they -”

Suddenly he was crying again, struggling through to maintain eye contact, the carving on his left wrist stinging with him openly defying a Rule, as well as the one on his forearm - but the more important one, the one between his collarbones, shone brighter. Obey all orders. No matter what.

“Hey, hey, kid,” Steve rushed to console. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready to, okay?” Peter just stared back. “You don’t have to obey if you don’t want to. If you’re uncomfortable with anything, just tell us, okay?” Peter lifted his chin ever slightly, the base of a nod, and Steve returned it with a smile.

Tony stared at his partner in awe. How was he managing to stay so composed, and to keep Peter so calm? Steve gave him a look, letting him know he’d been staring. Tony cleared his throat and looked away, trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Tony, you want to let them know we’re here?”

Tony nodded and began to open the door, but a loud inhale from behind him stopped him. He shut the door and turned back around, attention returning to his kid.

_ Who was  _ they _? Were Tony and Steve returning him? He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t - they couldn’t make him go back! _

“Whoa, kid!” Tony slowly held his hands up to Peter, attempting to stabilize and calm him. “Hey, it’s going to be okay, alright? Just breathe. Use your words.”

Peter took a moment to calm his shaky breaths, his large brown eyes never once leaving those of his dad. And then, in a voice quiet as a mouse: “Are you-” he whispered, then stopped himself, his eyes clenched shut - “Are you going to bring me back?”

Tony’s heart broke into a million pieces. Bring him back - how could Peter think he was going to do that? How could he believe-

In that moment, Tony wanted nothing more than to pull his kid into a hug - run a hand through his curls and tell him that he would  _ never  _ bring him back. Tell him that Peter would never see his captors again, not if Tony - or Steve, for that matter - had anything to do with it.

But instead, he just settled for verbal reassurance.

“Peter, I - Peter, look at me.” Peter’s eyes opened immediately, responding to an order, and Tony mentally slapped himself. Please. Peter, look at me  _ please _ . It would take some getting used to, wording phrases in a way that  _ didn’t  _ make them sound like an order, but Tony had better get used to it fast, or he might lose his kid. “Peter, I would  _ never  _ bring you back, okay? Never. You’re safe with your Pops and I, and you always will be. You’re stuck with us.” Unbeknownst to his parents, Peter’s heart quickened at those words, but he refused to let it show. He believed he was already on thin ice with them. He couldn’t risk another slip-up. Or else -

“We’re at my house,” Tony continued, pointing out the window, but Peter wouldn’t look. He was ordered to look at Tony, and that’s what he would do until dismissed. “We have some friends over. You remember Natasha? Rhodey, Bucky, Sam?” Peter didn’t react. He was a statue, waiting for direction, for orders. Until then, the carving on his right wrist - Rule Eight, only act if told to - reminded him to stay put. “They’re inside waiting for you. They want to see you. Do you think you’re up for it?”

Peter nodded his head quickly. Clearly, Tony wanted him to see these people - the people who he had  _ thought  _ were his friends, but after eight weeks without rescue, had become closer to enemies - and he wasn’t ready to disappoint Tony. Not when he was one offence away from punishment.

“Okay. Alright, kid, good.” Tony nodded his head in approval, and Peter relaxed, ever slightly. Alright then - he had said the right thing. “Now, I was going to go in first and explain what was going on, but if you want, Steve can go instead.” Peter’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two men. He couldn’t - he  _ couldn't  _ choose. It was a trick. He chose one, and the other -

Peter just shook his head and retreated back into the cushion, mumbling aimless babble and staring at his knees which were now tucked into his chest.

“Peter? Peter, sweetie, breathe, okay?” Steve consoled from the front seat. (Little did he know, the use of the nickname was only stressing Peter more.) “We can both stay with you, alright? How about we do that?” Peter’s face flushed with relief and Steve must’ve saw it, because he gave Peter a half-smile. “Alright then.” With that, he opened his door and was closely followed by Tony. The doors shut with a bang behind them. Peter wanted to flinch - the noise was  _ so loud  _ \- but he couldn’t. He wasn’t told to move, and so he shouldn’t. Rule Eight.

Tony opened his door again and poked his face into the car. “Pete? You coming?” Peter just stared at his knees. “Steve, he -”

Tony’s voice was filled with hopelessness as he stepped away. His voice and face was soon replaced by Steve’s. “Hey, bud, do you want to come out of the car with us? We can go inside together.” Peter nodded slightly, his eyes still focused on his knees. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Once again, Tony just watched his partner incredulously as he gently coaxed Peter out of the car and couldn’t help but hope he could be that way one day, too. That good of a father - that good of a  _ person _ . Tony  _ desperately  _ wanted to be like him - so gentle and caring and kind. And he swore he would be, if for no one else but Peter.

The walk to the compound was a slow one, Peter’s steps slow and unsure, but Steve stood beside him the whole way, ready to catch him if he fell - and honestly? It looked as though he might, with the was his legs were shaking. Suddenly, a thought crossed Tony’s mind - how much had they fed his kid? He had a large metabolism - what other teenagers ate on a normal day wouldn’t sustain him - and Tony doubted they even provided enough for the average teen. His stomach churned at the thought.

Steve, on the other hand, only had one thought on his mind - getting the kid from the car to the compound. His eyes were focused ahead, not wanting to put too much pressure on Peter, but he was positioned slightly behind him with a hand ready at his side to catch his kid if he stumbled. His only thought was making sure Peter was comfortable and stayed clear of any triggers. (He also noticed Tony standing a ways back, but he couldn’t worry about it now, instead opting to speak to him after.)

Peter’s eyes kept flicking back and forth, Steve noticed from his peripherals, looking at the space around them, but they always refocused on the floor just in front of him, his chin always pointing downwards. Steve wanted so badly to tell him it was okay for him to look around, but the kid had been pushed so much already in the car. Plus, Steve didn’t want him to take it as an order.

They slowly approached the door, and Steve looked down at Peter to attempt to read his reaction, to no avail - the kid was still staring dutifully at his feet. Steve spoke to him anyways.

“I’m going to go in first, alright kiddo? I’m gonna let our friends know you’re here.” Peter didn’t move. “Are you feeling okay to be meeting them, bud? Because if not, I’ll send them away. Whatever you want.”

Peter thought for a bit. He didn’t -  _ hear  _ an order in those words. And they  _ did  _ sound sincere - maybe he did have a choice. He just hoped he’d choose right.

“No, I-I want to meet them, Sir.” His voice trembled ever slightly as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Steve smiled and nodded at him, even though Peter wasn’t looking, as his eyes grew sad. He looked up at Tony, whose expression mirrored his own, and nodded once before opening the door, disappearing inside, and closing it behind him.

◊ ◊ ◊

There were voices coming from inside, and Steve instantly recognized them.

“Are you sure, though? I mean, shouldn’t they be back by now?” Sam.

“Hate to agree with bird guy over here, but are you sure those were the right coordinates? Should we be suiting up?” Bucky.

“Are you guys seriously doubting my tracking skills?” Natasha.

“She’s right.” Rhodes. “I mean, they haven’t seen their kid for two months. Don’t you think they’d take a moment to catch up with him?”

It was quiet for a moment, everyone in thought as Steve continued to head towards the voices.

“Gosh, I miss that kid.” Sam again.

“We all do, Sam.” Natasha. It went quiet again as Steve’s footsteps drew their attention and he stepped into the room. The four people inside turned to stare at him.

“Steve?” Bucky stepped forwards as they all waited in anticipation. “Did you get him? Did you find Peter?”

Steve took a moment before nodding. But, if Peter was safe - why wasn’t he with Steve? Why did Steve look so upset? And -

“Where’s Tony?” Rhodes voiced everyone’s thoughts. Steve quickly answered him.

“Tony’s fine. He’s with Peter.”

“And where’s that?” Natasha piped up. She just wanted to see the kid again.  _ Needed _ to. As annoying as he was with all his Star Wars and pop culture references, she desperately just wanted to see his big, goofy smile again. Make sure he was okay. Gosh, she had been so worried. They all had been.

Steve considered his next words. “I came in first to warn you guys. He’s very-” He couldn’t think of how to word it. “They really did a number on him. He’s not like he was two months ago.”

“And what does that mean?” Everyone’s tension was unbearable, fearing the worst.

“He’s very subdued.” Steve sighed. “He flinches a lot more. Doesn’t speak, or make eye contact. Very easily triggered.” He paused to let that sink it. “Just, be gentle with him. He’s going to take a while to adjust.”

Everyone nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, of course, Steve,” Sam pitched in. “Just bring him in. Let us see the kid.”

Words of agreement accompanied his as Steve retreated back the way he came.

◊ ◊ ◊

Peter remained frozen on the doorstep, not moving an inch, and Tony realized he should be doing something. But…  _ something _ ? What was this  _ something  _ he should be doing? Gosh, why’d he let Steve leave? Why didn’t  _ he  _ volunteer to go, and let Steve deal with this?

No, Tony reminded himself. He  _ said  _ he would try, for Peter. And try, he would.

Slowly, he walked up to Peter, and, noticing how tense his shoulders were, gingerly placed a hand on the small of his back reassuringly.

It was anything but.

Peter jolted when he felt something on his back that made his breath quicken and his eyes widen in fear. Hands on his back meant pushing, shoving, punishment. He turned quickly with a small yelp, but froze when he realized what he had done, a hand clamped to his mouth.  _ Rule Five _ .

Tony’s eyes stared at him with something - worry? No. It couldn’t be. Tony couldn’t be  _ worried  _ about him when Peter was breaking a Rule of looking him in the eyes.

_ Peter was breaking a Rule of looking him in the eyes. _

Peter forced his head down so fast Tony was afraid the kid would give himself whiplash, but he couldn’t do anything, he realized with a pang.  _ He  _ was the one that caused this. He made his kid jump in fear. Peter  _ feared  _ him. Peter - oh. Oh, shit.

“Tony!  _ Language _ !” came from the door that had been opened, unbeknownst to the two, making Tony realize he had said those words out loud.

Tony looked helplessly into the face of Steve, who was looking down at Peter, assessing the situation. He shook his head ever slightly as he looked down at the hunched shoulders of his kid, before taking a steadying breath and strengthening his expression.

“Hey, kid,” he said with a cheery expression that Tony could easily see through, but he hoped his kid couldn’t. “Our friends are inside waiting, if you’re ready to come in and see them?” It was phrased like a question, but apparently that wasn’t obvious enough for Peter, who remained still. Tony would’ve gone over and - well, he didn’t know what he would do if he was in this situation, but it definitely wasn’t what Steve did.

He crouched down, making eye contact with Peter, and made his voice even gentler, even more sincere. “Do you want to come inside and meet them, Pete?” Peter fought to keep his eyes down and avoid eye contact, but nodded still. Steve smiled, beaming, and hoped it was big enough for Peter to see. Steve gave Tony another pointed look -  _ you’ll explain later  _ \- and opened the door, leading Peter (head bowed) inside. Tony followed after, closing the door gently behind them.

He just hoped Peter could handle it.

The voices inside instantly quieted at the sound of the door opening again. First they saw Steve’s face, a pointed look -  _ gentle _ . They all strained to look past him, to see the kid.

But they almost wished they hadn’t.

He had grown so pale, so  _ thin _ , the top of his head and his stringy hair stopping them from seeing his face. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes focused on the ground, and Tony followed in after, torn between nodding to his friends or worriedly watching his kid. He settled for the former, not willing to look at his poor kid again, greeting everyone individually with a nod. They were quiet as the trio fanned out, Peter standing silently between his two dads.

Natasha stared at Tony, and Bucky at Steve, waiting for an explanation. Rhodes and Sam kept their gaze on the kid, everyone blinking back tears.  _ This  _ was their Peter?  _ This  _ was what he had been broken down to?

A growl rose in Bucky’s throat at the sight of this poor, tortured kid, but stopped immediately when he saw Peter flinch, ever slightly. Everyone turned to glare at him. Eyes wide, he just stared wordlessly at the kid.  _ What on earth had they done to him? _

Steve ignored his friends, instead turning his attention to the Peter, whose shoulders had begun to shake lightly. “Hey, Pete?” he immediately stood still again. The rest of the people in the room turned to watch in disbelief. This wasn’t Peter. It couldn’t be. “This is not an order, okay? Only if you feel comfortable. And if you don’t, then you don’t have to.” Everyone in the room took note of how he was phrasing his words. Only then did it finally sink in - how much they needed to be gentle with this kid, to watch their words around him. “Could you please look at me?”

Slowly, Peter’s head rose, and it felt like everyone in the room was holding their breath. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes empty, framed in red. His lips were strangely pale, and there were bruises on his face no one wanted to acknowledge - but they were there.

Peter refused to look at any of them, despite their gasps. He only had eyes for Steve. He felt  _ safe  _ with Steve.

The man smiled. “Hey, Pete. All our friends are here.” He gestured to them, but Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “You can look at them, if you’d like.”

Peter tentatively looked at where Steve’s hand was pointing - head bowed, but eyes searching. Steve named them in order from left to right. “Here’s Rhodey, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky.” They smiled despite tears in their eyes when their names were called, letting Peter know they were okay - they were  _ safe _ .

But Peter didn’t notice. His eyes were too focused on something at the end of the line - something near Bucky. Only later did he realize what. Not  _ near  _ him,  _ beside  _ him - his metal arm. Bucky hurried to tuck it behind him, turn to move it out of Peter’s sight, but by then the damage had already been done. Peter’s breath started to come out in shuddering gasps, his shoulders shaking, and Tony rushed to grab his shoulder. Natasha began to reach forward to follow suit, but Steve held up a hand to stop them both, his eyes only focused on Peter.

“Pete. Hey, hey, buddy, look at me.” Too late, he realized it sounded like an order. Peter’s head snapped up and he tried, oh, did he  _ try _ to control his sobs - but he couldn’t. And that only made him cry harder.

_ He was going to be punished. _

“What is it, buddy?” Steve continued, attempting to blow past what had just happened. Everyone in the room stood deathly still, not wanting to worry him even further. “Is it the metal?” Peter nodded quickly. “Okay. Okay, well, this metal is - it’s  _ special _ , okay? It’s just like a hand. It works just the same, right? That’s all it is.” Peter’s wide eyes stared into his, disbelieving.

“Here, do you want me to show you?” Peter remained stoic. “Wait here with Tony, okay? Let me show you.”

Peter took a small step backwards, away from Steve and towards Tony, keeping eye contact. Steve smiled reassuringly at him and tried to ignore how Tony looked scared to be near the kid.  _ Geez, Tony, he’s your kid too. _

“Alright, look.” Steve stood slowly, everyone moving out of his way so he could walk while keeping eye contact with the kid, who seemed to refuse to look away. Eventually, he stopped in front of Bucky, still sheltering his arm behind his back, his eyes full of emotions and Steve understood them all -  _ fear. Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment. Apology.  _ Steve just looked his friend and nodded, looking back to Peter as the arm slowly appeared from behind his back. Peter gasped and began to shake his head slowly, but Steve just crouched to be eye level once again and nodded slowly.

“It’s okay, kid. Don’t worry, alright? Look.”

_ Don’t worry?  _ Peter couldn’t help but think.  _ How could he not worry? They had - they had  _ trapped  _ their supposed ‘friend’’s arm in this metal cage. They said they would never return Peter. They didn’t need to when they had their own methods for punishment here.  _ Peter’s breath began to quicken as Steve returned to his full height beside his friend and reached for his arm.

“ _ No! _ ” Peter shouted, clenching a fist so hard into his mouth it hit his teeth when everyone turned to look at him. Steve just gave a pointed look to Tony.  _ Your turn _ .

“Pete, buddy, hey,” Tony contributed as he crouched down beside him. He smiled when Peter turned to look at him -  _ willingly.  _ Progress. Steve smiled brightly over Peter’s shoulder. He noticed, too.

“Look, your Pops is safe, okay? Bucky is our friend. He would  _ never  _ hurt him. Sit here with me, okay? I promise he’s safe. I promise I’ll keep  _ you  _ safe.”

Everyone was  _ clearly  _ shocked at the emotion Tony was showing. Truth be told, the kid had changed him. He would do  _ anything  _ for his kid. He didn’t get the chance to explain himself to them, though - Peter needed him.

Peter nodded slowly and took a deep breath before turning back to Steve and Bucky. Tony smiled, relieved. His kid - his kid  _ trusted  _ him. That was progress. No. that was  _ more  _ than progress. His kid had  _ flinched  _ at him just outside, and now he trusted enough to - to  _ look  _ at him without orders and to turn his back to him! Tony couldn’t believe it. His kid - oh, his kid.

Steve sent a small smile Tony’s way, clearly sharing the feeling, before turning back to his kid. Bucky still looked scared as he watched Steve, worried, but he just nodded, and Bucky relaxed, ever slightly.

Gently, Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and raised it up before smiling reassuringly at Peter, who was gasping and trembling slightly. “See? It’s fine, Peter. It’s just another hand.” Peter’s eyes were fixed on the metal, the thoughts of how  _ they  _ used it on him on repeat in his mind. All the cells, and traps, and weapons…

Peter didn’t notice he had dissociated until he noticed Steve in front of him.

“Peter? Peter, sweetie, you with me?”

_ Sweetie. _

Everyone began to converge on him as tears cascaded down his cheeks, sobs beginning to pierce the silence.  _ Give him space _ , he vaguely heard someone say.  _ Hey! Don’t move unless you’re told to!  _ Someone else shouted. Voices layered on top of each other, banging against Peter’s skull.  _ Peter, kid, are you okay?  _ His head bounced off the floor.  _ Shut your mouth! No one said you could talk!  _ People were coming closer; voices, faces, mixing together into a blur.  _ Give him space - let him breathe!  _ Too much. _ Chain the mutt up.  _ Too loud.  _ Get him - get him a water or something!  _ Stop.  _ Come on, sweetie. Just give us what we want.  _ STOP.  _ Pete - stay with me, bud.  _ STOP!  _ Oh, no, get back here. You’re not going anywhere. _

_ You’re never leaving this place. _

Peter blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha tries her chances at getting through to Peter.

Peter’s eyes opened slowly to fluorescent lights and he flinched against the harshness they provided in contrast to his dark cell. He groaned when he realized what was going on.

_ I’m dreaming _ , he sighed, as he blinked his eyes open, getting used to his new surroundings. He  _ hated _ when he dreamt. It meant that when he woke up, back in his old cell, it would be even worse, having something within his grasp, something so  _ real _ , pulled away from him. And he knew this one would be worse than most, when he saw the figures positioned beside his bed.

To his right, Tony sat reclined in a chair, typing something away on a tablet. Steve stood not too far away, staring out the window, deep in thought.

A tear dripped down Peter’s cheek. His dads were here, so close he could reach out and touch them - yet, he knew that as soon as he did, they would fade to nothing and he would wake back in his cell, preparing for another day of - Peter shuddered -  _ torture _ .

The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Tony, who immediately pocketed his tablet and sat up straighter. Steve turned away from the window at the movement and smiled, relieved, at Peter.

But Peter couldn’t find it in himself to return it.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the heart monitor and wires set up to his right and tried to savour the moment. He didn’t say a word. Because he knew as soon as anyone in the room opened their mouth, the only sounds coming out would be those of his captors, bringing in whips and chains to use on him in any way imaginable.

And so he sat quietly.

Steve didn’t know why Peter was so quiet. He just sat, staring at the IV bag, not saying a word. He wanted  _ so badly  _ to reach out and touch him, put a hand on his arm,  _ something _ , to make sure he was okay - but not until the kid gave him permission to.

But he quickly realized he didn’t have a choice.

Suddenly, Peter’s right hand went to dig his fingernails into his left forearm, strong enough to leave a dent through the fabric of his long sleeve shirt. A wave of panic rushed through Steve which was soon followed by horror as he realized; Peter’s face was dead calm. He was scratching, dragging his nails back and forth, attempting to leave a dent, some kind of a mark,  _ something _ , to wake him up.

But his dads were having none of it.

Tony was closer, so he reached Peter first, jumping forwards to encompass his hand in Tony’s own and holding it fast. Then, the screaming started. And it was one of the worst things Steve had ever heard.

Peter started thrashing on the bed, punching his left hand into Tony’s arm, begging for release, as his screams only grew louder - crying, pleading,  _ something _ .

Suddenly, the door to one of the medical rooms in the compound opened with a bang and in rushed Natasha, who was stopped by Steve holding up a hand. Then, he went to comfort Peter.

He quickly made his way to the opposite side of the bed and stood above Peter, making his face enter Peter’s vision. He looked deep into his kid’s eyes, hoping to find  _ something  _ other than fear. Some kind of realization, something that would’ve convinced Steve that peter saw him as  _ more  _ than his captors.

But there was nothing else there.

“Peter, hey, bud,” Steve spoke quietly, hoping to calm the kid. He noticed Peter’s fist faltered slightly against Tony’s arm. He took this as a sign. “Peter, you’re safe here. You’re  _ safe _ .” The screams began to subside. “It’s me, okay? It’s your Pops.” Peter made eye contact with Tony, but his eyes quickly flushed away to where his hand but still encompassed in Tony’s. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, and, Steve noticed with a pang in his chest, a tear slowly fell across his temple. Tony noticed it, too, and hurried to release his hand. Peter let it fall to the bed and made no move to readjust his frozen figure on the mattress.

Tony sighed and ran a hand down his face as Steve just watched his kid, wondering what to do next.

“ _ What just happened? _ ” Tony whispered quietly, but Steve shrugged. He had no idea.

Suddenly, Natasha was there, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving him a look -  _ step aside _ .

“Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly. Natasha gave him another look, and, after casting one last glance in Peter’s direction, he took a small step away - giving Natasha enough room to get closer, but still close by in case he was needed.

Natasha took a gentle seat on the very edge of the mattress, making it dip ever slightly. Peter’s eyes squeezed just a tad tighter, but quickly relaxed.  _ Rule Four  _ flashed in his head. He tried to remain as stoic as possible.

“Dim the lights.” Natasha’s quiet request was immediately followed by Tony repeating it to F.R.I.D.A.Y., and the lights dropped to about 50%.

“Peter?” Natasha’s voice rang out in the room that was suddenly so quiet. There was no response (which she didn’t expect there to be), so she continued on. “It’s Natasha. You remember me, right? We played the prank on Steve that one time, remember? When we replaced his shaving cream with whipped cream?” She paused when a quiet chuckle rose from the bed. Steve smiled from beside her, but the sound had stopped as soon as it had started.

Natasha made her voice even quieter, to a tone rarely heard from the assassin. “It’s okay, Peter. You can laugh.” And so he did. Just a quick exhale out of his nose, but Natasha considered it a win. “You can open your eyes, too, if you want. We dimmed the lights, so it should be easier for you to see.” He did that, too. Slowly, his eyes flickered open, and over to the redhead - just below her eye level, though. He was looking somewhere around her chin. She continued to look directly into his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” she acknowledged quietly, smiling. Tony watched her, wide eyes, over Peter’s head. So, Peter trusted not only Steve, but  _ Natasha _ too? And he was  _ still  _ terrified of Tony,  _ especially  _ after what had happened on the doorstep. How could he think he would’ve ever been any better than Howard?

Tony froze when the thought entered his head. Where had  _ that  _ come from? He had never - he hadn’t thought like that since Steve and he had first adopted Peter, where the former was quick to snap him out of it. And suddenly-

He forced himself to quiet as Natasha spoke again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, Peter? Only if you’re feeling up to it.”

And to Peter’s surprise, he was.

Something about her voice, and the memories she had brought forward. Something told Peter he could  _ trust  _ her.

Not completely though. She could still send him back. Any of them could.

So, Peter tried to answer - because he  _ desperately  _ wanted to. It had been so long since he had freely spoken to someone.  _ But _ , the small voice in his head was back again,  _ they don’t really want to speak to  _ you _. Be careful of what you say. _

So, Peter started small.

“N-not…” he stuttered, and Natasha tried to keep her face neutral as Tony beamed from behind him. “Not a dream, ma’am?”

Natasha shook her head slowly, full-on smiling now. The kid was  _ talking _ ! She got him to talk!

“No, Peter,” she answered, noticing how his shoulders relaxed. (His hands continued to fiddle in his lap, though.) “Not a dream.” Peter nodded quietly. He looked rather uncomfortable, Natasha then noticed, a small frown playing on his lips.

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

Peter’s wide eyes flashed up to hers, then back down with a jolt.  _ Ruleoneruleoneruleoneruleo- _

“Nothing!” he shook his head vigorously. “Nothing is wrong, ma’am.” His voice was an octave too high. Tony shot Natasha a look over the kid’s head.  _ Do something _ .

Natasha raised her hands slowly, palms out. She didn’t want to startle the kid more than he already was. “Okay, Peter, nothing’s wrong. I believe you.” Peter visibly relaxed at that, and he slowly sunk back into the mattress.

Obviously, the kid was lying. There was something bothering him. Natasha thought for a moment.  _ Why wasn’t he telling her?  _ It was something he didn’t want to inconvenience her with. Maybe something he was embarrassed about, or-

Natasha felt like facepalming. She had forgotten, Peter had been in captivity for two months. He probably never got to  _ ask  _ for anything. He only took what was given to him, and nothing else. Then, she got an idea.

“Pete, I’m just going to talk to your dads for a moment, okay?” Peter’s fingers froze from where they were intertwined in his lap.

_ They’re sending me back. This is it. I had been bad, I had been bad, I had been bad _

Natasha noticed him freeze. “Nothing bad, I promise.” She smiled and held a hand over her heart for show. “I just want to ask them…” She thought for an excuse. “What other pranks we should play on them.”

Natasha was relieved to hear the kid chuckle after this, without cutting himself off. She noticed Steve watching her in her peripherals with gratitude, but confusion, as she held one finger up to Peter and walked away. The two men followed after her out of the room, btu she left the door open - out of earshot, but close enough to jump in again if needed.

“What was that about?” Tony demanded in a whisper as soon as they were out of the room. They may have been out of earshot, but Tony didn’t want to risk the kid hearing.

“He’s clearly uncomfortable,” Natasha countered. “He wants to ask for something, but he’s scared to. Maybe if I sit with him alone, he’ll tell me. Otherwise, three to one. He might feel intimidated.”

“And why do you think this person should be you?” Tony was slightly offended. He was Peter’s  _ dad _ , after all, and Natasha couldn’t come waltzing in, make him laugh, and be the kid’s favourite. It just didn’t work like that.

He already had Steve making him feel like a terrible parent. He didn’t need a third party showing him up, too.

“I don’t know, Tony. Maybe she’s right,” Steve contributed, making Tony’s head turn sharply in his direction. “She made him  _ laugh _ . He trusts her. Maybe a new voice is what he needs right now.”

Tony just sighed. He knew they were right, but he wished it wasn’t true. He wished his kid needed  _ him _ .

But he didn’t.

And Tony just had to accept that.

He nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” he sighed. “Go talk to him. Steve and I will-” He searched for something to say, but he couldn’t think of what he did  _ before  _ Peter had been kidnapped. He had spent  _ every minute  _ in the last two months searching for him, and now that he was back, Tony had planned to spend every second of every day with his kid. And now that he couldn’t, he had  _ no idea _ what he would do.

“We’ll go eat lunch,” Steve volunteered, even though it was around five o’clock now.

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes widened. Goodness, how had they been so  _ stupid _ ? Lunch.  _ Food _ . When was the last time Peter had eaten? When was the last time he had eaten  _ enough  _ to sustain his metabolism?

A moment of silent understanding came between the three of them, but Natasha felt the need to voice it aloud anyways. They couldn’t risk messing this up.

“You too, go make him something.  _ A lot _ . But don’t make it seem like it’s for him - he might not eat it. I’ll get him down to the kitchen.” The two men nodded before briskly walking in the direction of the kitchen. Natasha watched them disappear down the hallway, before setting her face in a relaxed disposition and reentering the room.

Peter hadn’t moved a muscle. He was still sitting propped up with his back against the headboard, focusing straight ahead. It scared and saddened Natasha at the same time to see him like this, not even moving as she resumed her position on the bed beside him. As she got closer, she noticed his eyes were red.

_ He had been crying _ .

And Natasha thought she knew why.

“Hey, Pete, I’m back, just like I said I would be.” Peter didn’t relax at her words like he did before, which worried Natasha - but she  _ did  _ notice his eyes kept flicking towards the door.

_ What had calmed him down before? _

“Tony and Steve just went for a walk. Hey, remember that time we were going to get ice cream, and it turned into a full-on race about who could get there first?” A small smile played on Peter’s lips as he recalled the memory, but it was gone immediately. Natasha sighed. She didn’t want the conversation to play out this way - she didn’t want to be so  _ blunt _ \- but maybe she had to.

“They didn’t leave you, Peter.” The boy’s head flashed up in shock, his eyes meeting Natasha’s. She couldn’t help but notice he held her gaze for a second longer than he had previously before dropping it hastily again.

“They-” Peter stretched out the word, like he was waiting to be cut off, or punished. But Natasha did nothing of the sort. He finished his thought, “They didn’t?”

Natasha just shook her head. “Of course not.” She spoke softly, searching for his eyes under the pile of curls on his head. “They would  _ never  _ do that, Peter. They love you.”

The next words were spoken so quietly, Natasha almost missed them.

She wished that she had.

“Then why did it take them so long to rescue me?”

The assassin’s heart shattered as she watched the broken form on the bed, quivering ever slightly. She wished she could take the pain away from the kid. He was so  _ innocent _ . He had done  _ nothing  _ to deserve it, and if she could take his pain away and shoulder it herself, she would do it in a heartbeat.

But instead, she had to do what she could.

Slowly, Natasha lowered herself to her knees beside the bed so what she asked Peter to do next wouldn’t be such a struggle.

“Peter, look at me, please.”

His eyes snapped up immediately, like she expected they would.

“Tony and Steve, they love you very much, okay? We all do. And when you were gone, we never stopped searching for you. Not one day. But they kept moving you, Pete. It was hard for us to keep up.”

Peter squinted his eyes at this, but didn’t say anything. Natasha realized he was purposely holding back his words.

“You can speak, Peter.”

Slowly, he opened his mouth.

“They kept moving me?”

Natasha fought to keep her face neutral. She didn’t want any sudden change in emotion to scare the kid.

“Yeah, Peter, they kept changing their location. One day you would be in California, and by the time we got there, they had moved you to the other side of the country.” Peter’s eyes widened at this. “I promise you, Pete, we fought our hardest to get you back. We never stopped trying.”

Tears began to burn the back of Natasha’s eyes as she thought back to the hard days when they had no leads on Peter’s location. Suddenly, something would come up - a traced phone signal or an anomaly in a pattern, and they’d immediately rush to the location all the signs pointed to Peter being, only to find it abandoned, vacated. The closest they’d ever come was seeing a candle flicker in the basement of the house of their last lead. They had been so  _ close _ that the candle hadn’t even burned out by the time they got there - but still too late.

Peter was nowhere to be found.

The team hadn’t slept. They barely ate. Their thoughts were all consumed with getting Peter back. Even Steve, the voice of reason, was constantly stressing out, always on his toes, waiting,  _ praying _ , for their next lead. Waiting for his son to come home.

Meanwhile, Peter’s mind was somewhere else. He never remembered being moved. He was always in the same rooms, the same hallways.

How would they have moved him without his knowledge?

Of course, he didn’t voice any of this out loud. What would Natasha have done if he went against her?

Instead, he remained silent, both lost in their thoughts.

Until they were interrupted by Peter’s stomach rumbling.

Peter gasped softly, refocusing his eyes on his lap, beginning to shake with fear. He shut his eyes tight, wrinkles forming on his skin. Natasha hurried to snap herself out of her thoughts.

“Peter? What happened, bud?” Peter didn’t respond. “Was it your stomach, Peter? Are you hungry?” Peter shook his head so vigorously Natasha yearned to reach out and hold it still. “Okay, Pete, you’re not hungry. That’s okay.” His head stilled and his trembling ceased ever slightly.

How was Natasha going to do this?

“I think I’m a little bit hungry, though, Pete.” His eyes opened slightly, still focused on his hands in front of him. “I’m going to go eat something. Why don’t you come with me?” Natasha couldn’t help but be proud of her wording. Enough of an order so Peter wouldn’t rush to argue, but voiced like a question so he didn’t feel obligated.

Slowly, Peter sat himself up and pushed himself up off the bed, his eyes rising to meet Natasha’s. She smiled down at him and pointed her head towards the door, stepping forward to lead the way - partially so Peter didn’t get lost, but also so he could feel independent without a set of eyes on him from behind. Unbeknownst to him, though, Natasha had positioned herself so she could keep an eye on him the whole way down. And the way he kept his head focused on the ground rather than letting his eyes roam like before made her heart shatter.

◊ ◊ ◊

Natasha led the way to the kitchen like there was nothing different, because she so wanted to believe it. And so, she imagined the person behind her was anyone  _ but  _ Peter, because Peter would never be this silent. He would be chatting her ear of about  _ something _ , and the fact that he wasn’t had Natasha’s heart in pieces.

_ We have him back, though _ , a voice in her head argued.  _ He’s safe. That’s all that matters _ . Natasha fought her hardest to agree. They had Peter back. They could deal with whatever came next.

Natasha stopped walking when they reached the end of the hallway without turning the corner and turned around to face Peter, surprised he hadn’t walked into her with how his head was down.

“Hey Pete?” No response. “We’ve reached the kitchen. Steve and Tony are there, and so is Sam and Rhodey, alright? They’re all friends, and you’re safe with them. But if you ever feel like it’s too much….” Natasha bent down then and put two fingers gently under Peter’s chin, her heart crumbling when he flinched at the contact. She tilted his head up so she could see his eyes, which were still dutifully focused downwards.

“Tell me, okay? Or Tony or Steve. We’ll get you out. No one will be offended, no one will get mad. Okay?” Nothing. “Peter, I need you to tell me you understand.”

A quick response of “I understand” left Peter’s mouth, with no other movement. Natasha knew he was saying it only because he felt he had to, but she pretended he really meant it as she nodded and returned to her feet, leading Peter around the corner.

Whatever faint sounds Natasha had heard from the kitchen before turning the corner quieted immediately as she walked in, followed by the kid. She looked each of them in the eye, sending off a simultaneous message of warning and comfort. She was met by tamed smiles, but she could see the stress and anxiety hidden underneath. She imagined her face looked no different.

Peter felt the gaze of five sets of eyes on him.  _ Five _ . There hadn’t been this many people watching him since -  _ no _ . He shoved the memory down, ignoring the bruises on his wrists and ankles and the feeling of a scalpel and the syringe stabbing into his skin and the blood dripping from his wounds and the pain and the screams and -

Peter swallowed. Though there was a war going on in his head, he refused to let it show, instead keeping his eyes focused on the floor, to hide the pain of the memories he was sure anyone caring enough to look for it would see. (Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. In reality, it was because he was scared of what he would see if he looked up.)

A voice to his left Peter recognized as Tony’s spoke up, sounding strangely positive.

“Hey, Peter, you’re just in time. We were just about to eat. Care to join us?”

A shiver wracked its way of Peter’s spine. Why did they keep speaking to him like this? Voicing questions that just -  _ weren’t _ ? Were they trying to trick him? To make him think it as okay for him to speak, then punish him?

The sound of wood scraping on the floor made Peter’s head snap up, causing the world to spin momentarily. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he got his bearings. The scraping sound stopped suddenly, and nothing replaced it until he opened his eyes again. Then it resumed, quieter this time.

“Do you want to come sit with us, Peter?” a new voice pitched in - though, it wasn’t entirely  _ new _ . Peter just couldn’t figure out where he had heard it last. “I promise we don’t bite.”

We don’t bite.

_ We don’t bite. _

_ Yes, you do. _

The voice was followed by quiet chuckling, telling Peter that he should be laughing, too. And so he unwillingly, but dutifully, obeyed, because that’s what they wanted him to do.

Though he  _ really  _ didn’t want to, Peter raised his eyes until they saw a table and five bodies sitting around it with two empty seats, and… laughed.

Well, it was more like an exhale. Peter couldn’t bring himself to  _ actually  _ laugh, and even to him, it sounded hollow. He just - he couldn’t be expected to  _ laugh _ , right? I mean, after what he’s been through? These new people had to understand.

Slowly, he approached the table, standing between the two empty seats - one between Tony and Steve, and the other beside Natasha and a face Peter didn’t recognize. Tony’s voice spoke up again.

“You can choose where you want to sit, Peter.”

Oh, great. Another test. Did he want to sit beside two men that he wasn't sure  _ where  _ he stood with them, or between Aunt Natasha, who he trusted as much as he could in his situation, or a complete stranger? And, was one choice right, and the other wrong? What if someone was offended he didn’t sit beside them? There were so many variables, he couldn’t decide-

The sound of wood against floor jolted him out of his thoughts as he looked up and was met with the face of Tony. He hurried to return his gaze to the ground.

“Why don’t you sit beside your Pops and I, bud? Is that okay with you?”

Peter nodded, relieved. They had - they had chosen for him. He breathed an inward sigh of relief, too mentally exhausted to even consider that this might just be furthering the trap. Instead, he gingerly pushed himself up to sit on the chair.

“Thank you, Ton-” Peter’s eyes widened and he hurried to bow his head even lower. “Mister Stark! Thank you, Mister Stark!” he rushed to correct, heart pounding as his breath quickened. He had messed up, messed up,  _ messed up  _ -

“Whoa, kid, that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” Peter just shook his head.  _ It wasn’t _ . He began rubbing his left bicep subconsciously, memories bubbling to the surface.  _ (He was too worried to realize this was one of the first times he had moved without being told to in two months - and he wasn’t rushing to correct himself. And he wasn’t being punished.) _

“I always asked you to call me Tony anyways, remember?” A chuckle accompanied these words, and Peter quickly raised his eyes to Tony’s chin - not yet confident enough to reach his eyes.

“Would you like me to call you Tony from now on, Sir?”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “No - geez, kid, you - you can call me whatever you like, okay? Whatever you feel most comfortable with. It’s all the same to me.”

Peter nodded slowly and his eyes returned to the table in front of him.

“Yes, Sir.”

He wasn’t looking up to see Tony’s eyes turn downward in disappointment. Because, sure, the kid could call him anything - Tony honestly didn’t care.

As long as he said it without a quiver of fear in his voice.

Tony was never able to hear  _ Sir  _ the same way again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter eats dinner with the Avengers. Words are misinterpreted, and Peter's training from captivity involuntarily resurfaces.

A new voice cleared its throat. Peter’s eyes met the person’s chest hesitantly. It was the man sitting between Steve and the empty chair - the one that said he didn’t bite. Peter knew that was true - he knew these people wouldn’t outwardly hurt him - but he couldn’t help the involuntary shudder that went up his spine when Peter heard  _ his  _ voice. What was his name again?

“So, Tony, you attempted to cook,” he commented with snark behind his words. “I remember last time, that didn’t go so well. You almost  _ poisoned  _ us.”

Peter tensed.  _ Poison _ . Shit, they - they poisoned the food? He should’ve known - he should’ve  _ known _ . He wasn’t safe. He was  _ never  _ safe.

Steve noticed his kid tense. He cleared his throat and the man looked down at Peter, mouth slightly agape, and stopped talking.

“Yeah, well,” Tony stepped in, “This time it’s my mom’s recipe. I may not be a good cook, but I  _ am _ good at following instructions.”

“No, you’re not,” Natasha snorted from across the table. Everyone laughed. Tony shrugged.

“No, I’m not. But I took extra care this time.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” a second unnamed man commented from between Tony and Natasha. “Pass me the salad, Sam.” Alright, so the man beside Steve was Sam.

Peter didn’t like Sam. Peter wasn’t  _ safe _ with Sam.

“Really, Rhodes?” Tony commented.  _ Rhodey _ . Right.  _ Now _ Peter remembered. “You don’t  _ start  _ a meal with salad, you  _ end  _ with it.”

The bowl of lettuce and other greens was passed around the table - the opposite way of where Peter was situated.

“There are no rules to  _ eating _ , Tony,” Steve mumbled, scooping a spoonful of pasta onto his plate before reaching for the sauce in front of the empty chair. There was a place setting there, Peter noticed. They were expecting someone.

With a jolt, Peter remembered.  _ The metal arm. _

Why wasn’t he here? Peter couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or worried with that fact. If he wasn’t here, what was he doing?

When the conversation quieted and everyone began to eat, Tony started eyeing Peter’s still empty plate, and the others were beginning to notice, too. Why wasn’t he eating anything?

“What do you feel like, Pete?” Tony asked, nodding towards the different plates and bowls set around the table. Peter eyed everything carefully, and compared it to what was on people’s plates. His eyes froze on the plate of bread and pesto. No one had any on their own plates - it just sat in the middle of the table, untouched.

Peter eyed it warily.  _ That must be what’s poisoned _ .

Tony took his staring to mean something different.

He reached across and grabbed the plate, offering it to Peter, who remained frozen in place.

_ He’s going to poison me. _

_ Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh- _

Well, Peter couldn’t say he didn’t see this coming.

Tony placed two pieces of bread onto Peter’s plate, followed by a scoop of pesto, before returning the dish to the middle of the table and continuing to eat his own food. Peter didn’t make a move to eat the food in front of him. Sure, he was scared of being poisoned, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to, no matter what was in it.

After a few moments, the room went even quieter than before - there were no utensils against plates, no chewing. Everyone had stopped and was watching him, or sharing glances. Finally, Steve caught on.

“You’re allowed to eat, Peter.”

Tony just stared at his partner. That wasn’t the issue-

Peter nodded and gingerly reached for a piece of bread. Tony interrupted his own thoughts.

_ Oh _ . So, that  _ was  _ the issue.

Slowly, one by one, the group picked up their utensils and resumed eating - but not Tony. He was torn between watching his son - how could he fail his kid so terribly? - or Steve. He  _ still  _ had to figure out how Steve did it - and Natasha, for that matter. It seemed like he was the only one at the moment who didn’t understand his kid.

And that pained him.

“So, Tony,” Natasha started up a conversation. “Any new projects?”

She knew there wasn’t.  _ Everyone  _ knew there wasn’t. The last two months, everyone’s efforts were spent entirely on Peter, and getting him back. Tony couldn’t work on anything else even if he wanted to.

Still, he understood what she was trying to do.  _ Keep it normal for Peter _ , her expression read, and he played along, making up new additions he planned to add to his suit. People around the table nodded, pretending to be able to keep up - because, even while making up his words on the spot, Tony was  _ still  _ in full mechanic mode.

Eventually, Tony’s mind resorted back into his lab, and he actually began to plan out the upgrades to his machines. Everyone began to relax, because with Tony talking about his engineering, no one understood - but at least it felt  _ normal _ .

Until Tony unthinkingly grabbed a piece of bread off Peter’s plate - it was off to the side and Peter was still slowly chewing on the first one - when Peter froze and his gaze snapped to Tony’s arm, holding a half-eaten piece of bread.

Tony lowered the bread away from his mouth, guiltily chewing the piece he had already bitten off, and stared down at Peter. He could see his kid’s eyes widening, even at this angle, with his head bowed.

Tony swallowed. “Sorry, buddy,” he spoke apologetically. “Were you gonna eat that?”

Tony  _ always  _ stole food off Peter’s plate, and there had never been a problem before. He had gotten so used to the action, he hadn’t even thought before-

“It wasn’t-” Peter’s quiet words tore Tony out of his thoughts. “It wasn’t…  _ poisoned _ ?”

The last word was spoken so quiet, people around the table had to lean in to hear it, even in the silent room.

But when they did, they wished they hadn’t.

“What? Peter-” Tony stopped himself and lowered his voice when Peter winced. Gently, he reached out two fingers, placed them under his kid’s chin (who flinched immediately), and lifted it so he could look at him. Even then, Peter’s eyes only made it to his lips. “Peter, we would  _ never _ -” Tony fought to get the word out. “- _ poison _ you, alright?”

Peter didn’t respond.

“You’re  _ safe  _ here, okay, bud?”

Slowly, a tear dripped its way down Peter’s cheek, falling onto Tony’s hand. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide it.  _ Rule Four, Rule Four, Rule Four _ -

“Do you remember what we talked about in the car, Peter?”  _ Tell us if you’re uncomfortable. We’ll protect you. We won’t let anyone hurt you. We’ll keep you safe. _

Peter nodded, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief - until Peter sat up straight, eyes focused somewhere over Tony’s head, and began reciting.

He put a hand to his left wrist.

“Rule One: no eye contact.”

Tony froze. This was the clearest Peter had spoken since they had gotten him back.

But these were  _ not  _ the words Tony wanted to hear his kid saying.

He moved his hand to his left forearm.

“Rule Two: only sleep when told to.”

Tony felt the entire room’s eyes on him. This wasn’t what he meant to ask, this wasn’t what he wanted to  _ hear _ -

Peter reached up to place a hand on his neck.

“Rule Three: no trying to escape.”

Tony grabbed Peter’s hand before it could move anywhere else.

“Peter, no, I-”

Peter fought to get his hand out of Tony’s grasp, and Tony released him in shock. Peter was - Peter was  _ fighting back _ ?

He placed his hand on his right bicep like nothing had happened.

“Rule Four: no emotion.”

Tony’s blood ran cold at those words. Before he could react, Peter’s hand touched his right forearm.

“Rule Five: no speaking or screaming unless reciting the rules.”

Steve’s wide eyes were watching Tony over Peter’s head, but Tony barely spared him a glance, too busy staring at Peter.

His hand moved to his left bicep.

“Rule Six: show respect.”

No one was speaking. Everyone was watching Peter. Whatever this was, they knew Peter was trained not to stop until he was done. But what  _ was  _ this?

His hand brushed against his collarbones.

“Rule Seven: obey all commands and orders.”

Everyone was quiet. Though they couldn’t stand to hear what those  _ criminals _ did to Peter, they needed to know how to punish them when they were found.

Peter’s hand touched his right wrist.

“Rule Eight: only act if told to.”

The room was silent, all regarding their poor kid. Because that’s all he was - a  _ kid _ .

His hand moved up to his left temple.

“Rule Nine: receive all punishment without complaint.”

Steve’s eyes grew hard over his kid’s head.

But no one was prepared for the words that came next.

Peter touched his right temple.

“Rule Ten: punish yourself if we are not around to.”

Peter lowered his head and regained his slouched posture, done reciting…  _ whatever  _ that was.

Tony sucked in a breath, reeling at those last words. He felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He didn’t know he was standing until his chair hit the floor behind him and he was staggering away from the table.

_ No eye contact _ .

Peter’s voice echoed in his head, his hollow eyes taunting Tony.

_ Only sleep when told to _ .

Steve was suddenly at Tony’s side, calling his name.

_ No escaping. _

Tony staggered down the hall as a faint  _ I’m sorry _ could be heard behind him amidst the chaos echoing in his mind.

_ No emotion _ .

His legs carried him to the front door, his hands fumbling with the knob before shoving it open.

_ No speaking or screaming unless reciting the rules. _

Fresh air entered his lungs, but it didn’t make a difference. Tony fell to his knees.

_ Show respect. _

He toppled to the pavement, his brain unregistering of the pain that blossomed in his side. A hand reached for his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

_ Obey all commands and orders. _

Tony slammed a fist into the ground, and then another, and then another. It didn’t make a dent in the floor, though he was hitting it so hard, he felt it should’ve. This only made him angrier.

_ Only act if told to. _

Blood rushed in his ears as his vision turned red. A voice fought to be heard through his inner war, but it remained blocked behind a wall.

_ Receive punishment without complaint _ .

A scream tore from his lips as Peter’s voice rang in his mind. It wasn’t fair,  _ it wasn’t fair _ -

_ Punish yourself if we are not around to. _

Tony cried.

◊ ◊ ◊

The kitchen was left in silence between a slumped over Peter and a concerned Rhodes, Sam, and Natasha. After Tony stumbled out, Natasha convinced Steve to follow him, knowing Peter trusted her enough for her to be able to calm him down. Plus, Tony  _ really _ looked shaken. Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she saw him looking so unstable, his face pale, hands shaking, unable to keep his balance.

Rhodes and Sam glanced at Natasha, wondering what to do now. She knew better than to ask Peter why he just repeated what he did, as much as she wanted to know - so she directed her attention back to his plate, remembering the only thing he ate being half a piece of bread. She picked up her fork and resumed eating her pasta, shooting a look to Sam and Rhodes, telling them to do the same. They looked at her like she was crazy, but complied. They had learned over the years not to second guess her.

Peter remained frozen in his chair.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Peter,” Natasha started, momentarily halting her fork in mid-air. She wanted Peter to eat, but she also wanted Peter to understand. “Tony was just worried about you. We all are. And to hear you repeat those Rules-” Peter flinched at the word. Natasha lowered her fork.

“Peter, do you honestly expect us to make you follow those rules here?”

Sam and Rhodes set their utensils down to watch Peter as he took in a shuddering breath, but didn’t respond. Natasha’s brow creased.

“Can I come over to sit beside you, Peter?”

She held her breath. She wanted to be closer to him, to offer human comfort and compassion, but she wasn’t sure if her movement would startle him, or if he would feel as though something else was happening by her being so close.

Slowly, Peter’s curls bounced. He was attempting to nod with his head still bowed, Natasha noticed, and Peter’s voice echoed in her mind.  _ Rule Five: no speaking or screaming unless reciting the rules. _

_ Or screaming _ .

She fought to control her agitated breathing.

“Okay,” she answered, slowly standing up. She wanted to make sure he was aware of every movement she was making as he wasn’t watching her do them. “I’m coming over.” She slowly made her way around the table, Sam and Rhodes’ eyes following her the whole way. When she reached the chair Steve was sitting in before, she made sure to make her movements a bit louder. She didn’t want to startle Peter if he didn’t know where she was.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the chair beside Peter, debating how to speak to him - how to voice her thoughts. She wished there was a set of magic words she could say to restore the kid to his past self, like a code, or a secret message she could utter where he would just bounce back to life.

But there wasn’t. She’d have to do it the long way.

“Peter, I want you to understand something, okay?” She spoke softly, watching his bowed head as his shoulders rose and fell with a tension she could feel radiating off him.

_ Peter was scared. _

_ Of her _ .

“Where you were,” she spoke slowly, “and where you are now, are different.” She waited for a response, but none came, so she continued. “Tony and Steve, they rescued you to bring you here, to bring you  _ home _ . And you are by  _ no means  _ obligated to follow those rules  _ those people _ gave you, okay?”

Still, Peter didn’t respond.

“Do you understand, Peter? And it’s okay if you don’t, because it’s been two months, and I know it’s hard to adjust. So you can answer honestly-” she softened her voice even further- “do you understand?”

Ever slowly, Peter shook his head.

“Can you tell me what you don’t understand, Peter?”

Peter took in a shuddering breath before whispering his next words.

“Why won’t you punish me?”

Natasha’s brow furrowed at the way Peter worded his statement - but she understood after hearing what followed.

And she wished she hadn’t.

“I deserve it.”

◊ ◊ ◊

“Tony!” Steve called, chasing his partner out the front door. He shouted after him, trying to get him to stop, to no avail.

Tony staggered out the doorway and collapsed on the pavement, chest heaving, fists slamming against the pavement. Steve hurried over and grabbed his wrist, attempting to pull it away without hurting the man. He grasped both of Tony’s hands in his own and held him there, knowing any words he spoke would be lost in the sobs and screams that tore from his lips, and so he waited for them to die down.

Steve sat beside his partner on the pavement as he let it out, glad that Tony was experiencing  _ some  _ kind of emotion. He knew no one could stay strong forever - gosh, he knew. And so he let Tony kneel on the ground in front of him and scream and cry and scream again.

And when Tony collapsed into Steve’s arms….

Well, he allowed that too.

Tony clutched onto Steve in a way Steve knew that he’d be embarrassed of after, but right now, he let Tony bury his face into his chest as Steve rested his chin on Tony’s brown locks. He felt the sobs wrack through Tony’s body as he held him there, one arm wrapped securely around his shoulders, the other rubbing circles into his back, as Steve himself stared up at the sky.

Away from Peter and Tony’s attentive gazes, Steve allowed himself to feel the pain, and the guilt, and the  _ anguish  _ that had been haunting his mind in the last few hours.

He allowed himself to break.

Closing his eyes, he let a tear fall down his cheek - followed by another, and another, letting them join Tony’s on the pavement.

He tried to form thoughts, to figure out what to do next, but there was one thought, one  _ word _ , holding every other idea back.

_ Why? _

Why Peter?

Why  _ them _ ?

Hadn’t they all struggled enough?

They fight evil - robots, aliens, even the horrors of  _ humanity _ on a daily basis. They fight the demons in everything they do - so why, now, are they being forced to fight their own? Why can’t they just  _ live _ ? Why can’t the universe just  _ leave them alone _ ?

A small breeze picked up and ruffled the hair of the men on the pavement as they sat, clutching each other for support, lost in their own thoughts, as they waited - for what, they didn’t know.

A sign of hope, maybe.

But what did that encompass? Because right now, Steve wasn’t even sure if hope  _ existed  _ anymore.

For the last two months -  _ months  _ \- he had went without his son. He had lived - no,  _ existed _ , with a shell of the man whom he loved so much, as they ran in circles, day in and day out, hoping, begging,  _ praying _ , to anyone that was out there, to anyone that was  _ listening _ , to bring them their son back.

But now he understood the story of The Monkey’s Paw - the one of the man that wished for 2,000 pounds, and received it the next morning as a compensation for his son’s death. Steve had prayed for his son, and he had gotten him back - but at what cost?

_ At least he’s not dead _ , Steve’s inner voice spoke. Steve found himself outwardly nodding in agreement as a new hope surged through him.

Peter wasn’t dead. There was still hope. There would  _ always  _ be hope, as long as his family was together.

Slowly, Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and helped him up to his feet. Both men wiped away their tears as they refused to look each other in the eye, but kept an arm around the other, as they slowly trekked back into the compound.

◊ ◊ ◊

Rhodes stared at Peter, dumbfounded.

_ I deserve it. _

What did that mean? What had Peter thought he had done wrong?

Suddenly, the rules repeated themselves in Rhodes’ mind.

_ No eye contact. _

_ No speaking. _

_ Obey all commands. _

_ Only act if told to. _

Realization hit Rhodes like a truck. In all their coaxing Peter out of his shell, all their encouragement that he was  _ safe _ \- gosh, they had been  _ triggering  _ him. Rhodes had thought they were making progress. He thought they were finally doing things  _ right _ , and getting Peter back.

But all they were doing was stressing him out  _ more _ .

In a sense, Rhodes could understand what Peter was going through. Being in the military, he was always taught to follow orders blindly, and had a hard time when they went against what he believed in, like signing the Sokovia Accords, and handing over one of Tony’s suits to the military when he became incapable of being in ownership of it.

On the other hand, Rhodes had  _ no idea  _ what was going on in his mind. I mean, who else had been kidnapped as a teenager and forced to live like an animal for two months?  _ Two months _ -

Shit.

It had just hit Rhodes how long Peter had been gone.

How long he had been caged up,  _ tortured _ , thinking he was alone with no chance of rescue-

Rhodes cut himself out of his thoughts. If he kept thinking of the past, he would never be able to deal with the present. Which was what Peter needed right now.

Natasha seemed to be taken aback by Peter’s last comment. They all were, but now Rhodes thought it was his time to step in and try to comfort the poor kid.

“What do you think you did to deserve it, Peter?”

The boy just shook his head, refusing to look up. Rhodes remembered Rule Five - he shuddered at the phrase - and didn’t want to push it. Instead, he turned his gaze to the bread still sitting on the plate in front of Peter.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you did nothing wrong, okay? Nothing. And you never will. You will  _ never  _ do anything that warrants a punishment in this house.” Rhodes picked up his fork. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m still hungry, so I’m going to eat.” His eyes flicked up to Peter’s bowed head. “And, Peter, if you want to eat as well, you’re allowed to.”

Rhodes hated that he needed to explicitly give Peter permission to eat. To  _ eat _ . He hated it, hated this whole scenario, and wished it would’ve happened to anyone else. Anyone but him, but  _ Peter _ .

A terrifying thought suddenly crossed Rhodes’ mind.

If Peter was hungry - if he had gone so long without food, he was starving, he was  _ dying _ \-  _ would he eat _ ?

He was saved from having to process the answer by Tony and Steve reentering the room, their arms around each other, looking like they were partially supporting the others’ weight. Rhodes didn’t have to think hard to understand what they were going through.

He did, however, did a double take when he saw their tear-stained cheeks.

_ They’re Iron Man and Captain America _ , he thought warily, slightly worried and concerned at the scene before him.  _ They’re superheroes. Superheroes don’t cry _ .

_ But they’re not superheros, not now _ , his inner voice argued.  _ Right now, they’re Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. And they’re dealing with the loss of a child. _

“Hey, Steve, Tony,” Sam spoke, wanting to alert Peter of the new visitors, as his back was to the doorway. He didn’t want Peter hearing footsteps behind him and not knowing who they belonged to. “Welcome back.”

Steve nodded with a small smile, grateful at the action - though, Tony only had eyes for Natasha, who looked shaken, with a hint of  _ horrified _ , from her spot beside Peter.

Rhodes cleared his throat, and Tony’s eyes flashed to him.

_ Later _ , he mouthed.  _ Sit down. _

Tony tried to brush off Natasha’s pale face and wide eyes as she slowly rose from the table and walked back to her original spot beside Rhodes, and Tony and Steve sat themselves back at the table, keeping a wary eye on Peter’s still form.

_ Did he eat? _ Tony mouthed to Rhodes. Rhodes just shook his head. Tony nodded. At least he knew what to start with.

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t eat all the food while I was gone,” he said snarkily, reaching for anything nearest to him, not even registering what it was. He just needed his kid to  _ eat _ .

He grabbed the bowl and the utensil inside - tongs - and scooped the green leaves of the salad onto his plate. Slowly, everyone around the table began to follow his lead until they were all eating again.

Except for Peter.

When Tony finished scooping the food onto his plate, he turned to Peter and slowly held the bowl in his direction.

“Would you like some salad, Pete?” he asked gently, but the kid still flinched.

And Tony hated himself for it.

“You need to eat something, kiddo,” he murmured, wondering what to say next - but he just decided to speak from the heart.

“I know you’re scared. I know that whatever they did to you is holding you back. But you’re home now, okay? And none of that stuff applies here.  _ None  _ of it.” He paused and let the words sink in. He  _ needed  _ Peter to understand. “You’re home.”

His heart sang when Peter slowly, timidly, raised his head… and  _ nodded _ , whispering, “Yes, please.”

Trying, but failing, to bite back a smile, Tony scooped the food onto Peter’s plate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter seems to be more comfortable with Natasha than Tony, and this doesn't sit well with him.

Half an hour later, the group at the table was much more relaxed. Natasha and Rhodes were laughing, Sam was taunting them all, and Tony and Steve had their hands discreetly intertwined behind Peter’s chair. Peter, who had managed to finish the one piece of toast, and a few oil-covered leafy greens of the salad.

He did it when he thought the rest of them weren’t looking, and they all let him believe they didn’t see him steal a bite from the plate in front of him. Ideally, they would’ve convinced him it was okay to eat, but that had yet to work, and right now, no matter the circumstances, they  _ needed  _ him to have nutrients in his body. And the fact that he was sneaking to eat the food when he was so opposed to moving without orders to, proved how vital this meal was to his health.

Tony’s chest panged at the thought, but at least he was eating now. If he was still  _ there _ , who knows what would be going on right now?

Tony shuddered as he remembered - that was just  _ this morning _ . Peter had woken up just a mere 12 hours ago in a cell, alone, cold, and suffering.  _ Just this morning _ .

Steve’s thumb started rubbing circles on the back of Tony’s hand, startling him. He looked up and met his partner’s bright blue eyes over his kid’s head, attempting to relax his creased forehead. Steve’s worried look told him his efforts were fruitless.

_ You okay?  _ Steve mouthed, his thumb providing comfort as it ran back and forth over Tony’s knuckles. Tony smiled (though it probably looked more like a grimace) in response and looked around at the other faces at the table.

By now, they had all finished their food and were just hanging out with each other. If they ignored Peter, pretended he wasn’t at the table with them, they could pretend everything was normal, and Peter was just at Ned’s house or something, with how quiet he was being.

Until someone’s eyes landed on him. Then the conversation quieted, everyone avoiding eye contact, until someone boldly picked up the conversation and started it back up again.

And apparently, everyone was doing great at avoiding eye contact with the kid, because the conversation was in full swing. And everything felt normal again.

Tony heard a quivering whisper at his side. His head quickly shot down to better hear the kid.

“M-Mr. Stark, Sir?”

“Yeah?” Tony let go of Steve’s hand as he hurried to respond, trying to make eye contact though Peter’s head was still down. “What is it, kid?”

The voices at the table immediately quieted, and tension immediately rose.

“May I-” Peter’s voice got deathly quiet with a sharp intake of breath. Even with the silent room, Tony had to strain to hear. “May I use a bathroom?”

Tony held back the urge to gasp.

Peter was asking to use a bathroom?

_ What? _

“Yeah,” Tony rushed to respond, wondering just how long Peter had been holding back the question. “Yeah, kid, of course. You don’t have to ask.” Peter nodded and slowly eased off his chair. Tony desperately wanted to reach behind him and push it back to give him room like he had done so many times before-  _ before _ , but he didn’t want to frighten Peter. Instead, he moved his chair away, giving the kid space to move.

Peter got off the chair and froze, his mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. Tony wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts.

“Down the hall, last door on your right,” Natasha pitched in from the other end of the table, and Peter slowly set off again, everyone’s eyes following him down the hallway, hearing his footsteps echoing off the halls of the compound. When he was gone, everyone slowly and silently resettled themselves at the table.

Tony was the last to turn.

He felt Steve’s eyes on him, but he was staring straight at Natasha. He didn’t know what was being conveyed in his eyes, or even what he was  _ feeling _ , but he just - he just needed to say this.

_ “How do you know?”  _ he hissed through gritted teeth. Natasha looked taken aback by his tone, and even Tony was surprised by the sudden  _ venom  _ in his voice.

“How do I know what?”

Tony chuckled humorlessly. He didn’t know why he felt this way, why he felt so  _ bitter  _ \- but he did, feeling the heat rising up his cheeks and his shoulders rising and falling heavily.

“How do you know what he needs?” People around the table stared at him, wide-eyed, as his breathing grew heavy. “Why does he trust  _ you _ ?”

“ _ Tony! _ ” Steve hissed, but Tony just shook his head.

“ _ No _ , Steve! Why does he trust  _ her _ ?” The billionaire pointed a finger accusatively at the redhead across the table, whose eyes grew colder with every word that left his mouth. “ _ We  _ are his parents!  _ I  _ am his dad! She’s a fucking  _ assassin  _ who shouldn’t even be here! She has  _ no right _ -”

“I’m sorry for wanting him to get better, Tony!” Natasha retorted loudly, quieting her voice when she remembered Peter was just down the hallway. (This thought process had yet to affect Tony.) “Yeah, he’s your kid, but he’s  _ my  _ nephew, and I care for him  _ just  _ as much as you do! I’m just trying to help him!”

“So am I!” Tony shouted, making everyone jump. “Why does he trust  _ you _ , and not me? What do  _ you  _ have that  _ I  _ don’t?”

Natasha looked livid.

“If you don’t quiet down,” she hissed, “you’ll scare Peter.” Tony looked taken aback. Natasha fought on. “Now, if you could set your ego aside for one damn second, you’d let me help him, because you’d see that  _ I’m actually making a difference _ .”

The words hit Tony like a slap to the face. He was too stunned to respond - but Natasha wasn’t done.

“Now, I  _ would  _ be walking out that door right now if it wasn’t for the kid. He is the  _ only  _ reason I’m still here. And as soon as he’s better, I’m gone. He can come me visit any time, but I will  _ not  _ be returning here.”

The room was silent. No one made a noise. Natasha’s eyes bore into Tony’s as everyone else stared down at their laps, or up at each other. Tony’s face was quickly flushing pink as he sucked in a breath and his eyes met Steve’s, who was glaring at him with an intensity that caused his breath to quicken.

Tony had seen this look many times before from his peripherals as Steve had aggressively spoken to someone across the battlefield from Tony’s side - an alien, a robot, an  _ enemy _ .

He had never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

Slurring his words in an attempt to excuse himself, Tony pushed his chair back from the table as he picked up his plate and utensils, and deposited them in the sink on his way out the door, feeling everyone’s eyes on his back. His mind was full of thoughts and completely devoid of emotion at the same time as he stumbled his way up the stairs and into his bed.

Completely forgetting about how Peter would react when he returned to the table and found Tony gone, he collapsed in a heap on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the previous conversation repeated itself over and over in his head. He  _ hated  _ how he had acted, but his memory wouldn’t let him escape his petty words.

What had come over him? Sure, he was upset he couldn’t be there for his kid to comfort him and help him recover, but he was so  _ very  _ grateful for Natasha being there, someone on his side who Peter trusted.

He - he  _ was  _ grateful.

Wasn’t he?

◊ ◊ ◊

Natasha’s vision was turning red as she watched Tony retreat down the hallway. She felt she could be vibrating at the amount of  _ anger  _ that was making its way through her veins.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so angry.

She was helping the kid. Peter was listening to her. He was  _ trusting  _ her. Natasha thought Tony would be grateful to have someone on his side who Peter trusted, but clearly, he was just jealous.

Because he couldn’t be the hero, he didn’t care that the victim was even saved.

And Natasha hated it.

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice pierced the silence from across the table. Natasha let out a heavy breath and blinked away the red, attempting to swallow down the hatred as she turned her eyes to Steve, her mouth set in a thin line, pressed tightly, keeping her from screaming out.

“He didn’t mean it.”

Natasha shook her head, the corner of her mouth turning upwards in a grimace.

“I get it. He’s wanted Peter back for so long, and now he’ll barely speak to him.” She sighed. “I just want him to understand that I’m doing this for his benefit. I’m just doing what I can to help the kid heal.”

Steve nodded sympathetically, his eyes softened drastically from the daggers they were previously throwing at Tony.

“I get it.” He nodded, and Natasha gave him a small, grateful smile back. “I appreciate it. And Tony does, too. It’s just hard for him right now.” Natasha nodded. “Thank you.”

Natasha was about to respond when a shuddered breath at the doorway cut her off. Her eyes flashed to where Peter was standing at the end of the hallway, watching them all. Natasha started to smile. He was meeting their eyes! He was actually feeling brave and  _ comfortable  _ enough to-

“Please don’t send me back.”

Natasha gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Her brow furrowed as her wide eyes met Steve’s before they both turned back to the kid.

“I heard shouting, and I - I just-” Peter’s sobs interrupted his words. He was  _ crying _ .

“I’m sorry, I know I broke some rules, and I know you’ve been wasting food on me, and I’ve been speaking and making eye contact and I called you T-Tony and-”

Peter broke down into sobs as his hands flew up to wipe tears from his face. Steve rushed forward to kneel in front of his kid while Sam, Rhodes, and Natasha sat back and watched. As much as they wanted to help, they knew this wasn’t their place.

Steve shushed Peter as he tried to stutter out a few more words, but ultimately, it was his piercing sobs that interrupted his pitiful attempts to speak as he squeezed his eyes shut and his hands scratched against his face. Steve’s hands gently found their way to Peter’s wrists and held them to his own chest as he whispered comforting words to his kid.

“Shh, buddy, you’re alright. You’re safe,  _ shh _ ….” Peter collapsed into his Pop’s waiting arms, too tired to hold himself up anymore. Steve’s hand easily cupped the back of his head as his fingers wove their way into his curls, but Peter was just too tired to be concerned about being held so close. His tears were met by those of his Pops on the floor as Peter sobbed harder into his shoulder.

Peter didn’t know if this was a dream, or a punishment, or a false sense of security, but he latched onto Steve like his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,  _ I’m sorry _ …” Peter’s voice repeated like a broken record, over and over until the words were incoherent. Steve just held the kid’s head to the groove of his neck, gripping him tightly like he was the only thing that mattered.

Because he was.

Quick footsteps alerted Steve of Tony’s presence as he rushed down the stairs, stopping as the group at the base of the stairs came into view. He leaned over the banister, panting, wild eyes searching the scene before him.

Steve met his eyes and clutched Peter tighter, almost protectively, which he never thought he would see himself doing towards his own partner. But as his eyes met Tony’s panicked ones, he just shook his head slowly.

Natasha was just doing what was best for their kid. And if Tony couldn’t see that, maybe he shouldn’t be at the compound for the time being.

Tony’s eyes began to water as Steve, one of the two only people he loved in the world, give him a look of - of  _ disappointment _ , over his kid’s shoulder. Tony wanted to look away. He  _ desperately  _ wanted to escape that look. But no matter how much he wanted to, how much he  _ tried _ to, he couldn’t.

Because he knew he deserved it.

Steve broke the eye contact and resumed comforting their now quietly-whimpering kid as he felt a sudden presence at his shoulder. He jumped at the hand that was resting lightly on his back. He hadn’t even notice Rhodes leave the table.

Rhodes tilted his head to the right, the universal gesture for  _ Let’s step outside. _ Tony followed him out the door, casting one last look at his family behind him, gathered on the floor, and trying to ignore Natasha sending him a cold look over their heads.

Tony shut the door behind him, the cool fall wind welcome, bringing feeling to his otherwise numb emotions. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans - more of a nervous gesture than one responding to the cold - as Rhodes paced a few steps before turning back around. Tony refused to meet his eyes, instead opting for a rock resting on the pavement just between them.

Rhodes sighed.

“What was that, Tony?”

The question hung between them in the silence that followed, interrupted only by the occasional car horn in the background, or a leaf scuttering across the pavement.

Tony stayed quiet.

He had no idea.

“Nat’s just trying to help. You can’t get mad at her. She got the kid to  _ talk _ , Tony-”

“Yeah, Rhodes, I know.”

“No, Tony, you  _ don’t _ . Just listen! While you were out, Natasha got him to talk. She got him to voice his thoughts, and to  _ confide  _ in her! Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want your kid to get  _ better _ ?”

Tony sighed.

“When I left the first time,” he started, slow, unsure, “leaving Peter with Natasha in the med bay, she got him down to the kitchen to eat. When I left again, she got him to talk - and now he’s  _ hugging  _ Steve?” Tony ran a shaking hand through his hair, searching the stars for - for something. Comfort? An answer to an unasked question? If it was the latter, Tony wasn’t even sure what he should be asking.

“Maybe it’s me, Rhodes,” he said brokenly, his eyes still focused on the twinkling lights in the sky.

Tony always loved the stars. He wasn’t sure what it was.

Maybe it was the fact that they were always there, watching him, no matter where he was, or what he had done.

Maybe it was because they made him feel small, reminded him that he was just a spec in the entirety of the vast universe. None of his problems mattered,  _ he  _ didn’t matter, when compared to the huge spectrum of everything.

But this problem seemed pretty damn big.

Rhodes was quiet as Tony watched a nebula change colour in the sky. It was funny how the rapidly-changing chaos of the star could soothe him so deeply.

Finally, Tony returned his gaze down to Rhodey suspiciously. He had been quiet for way too-

Rhodey was half way down the street.

_ What the hell? _

Tony jogged after his friend.

“Rhodey, what- Where are you going?”

Rhodes kept walking.

Tony sped up, chasing after him

“What the-  _ hell _ !” Tony panted as he shoved his friend from behind. Rhodes stopped and turned sharply.

“How’d that feel?”

Tony cocked his head. “I swear, Rhodes, if you don’t start explaining-”

“Leaving you when you needed comforting.” Rhodes’ voice was tight - strong, but sure. “Walking away. And you called out for me, but I didn’t turn.”

“I don’t-”

“If Steve walked out the door, would you turn to him instead? Forget about me?”

Tony wiped a hand around the edge of his face, the message finally settling into place.

“He needs you, Tony,” Rhodes concluded softly. “You need to be there for him to guide him along. It’s going to be hard. He’s been in  _ captivity _ for two months! Of  _ course  _ it’s going to be difficult for him to trust again.” Tony flinched at the harshness behind his words. Rhodes didn’t care. He trudged on.

“You know why he clung on to Natasha?”

“Because she was there for him.”

“Because she  _ listened  _ to him. She waited until he was ready and coaxed him out of his shell. She  _ did not  _ abandon him.”

Tony scoffed. “I didn’t abandon him!”

Rhodes raised his eyebrows. Tony just sighed and turned back the way they came.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the compound.”

“Why?”

Tony turned back around, his arms raised in a shrugging motion as he continued to walk backwards.

“I gotta go be there for my kid.”

Rhodes smiled to himself as he rolled his eyes and jogged after his idiotic friend.

◊ ◊ ◊

When Tony returned to the compound, the entire scene had changed.

The last pieces of dishware were being cleared from the table by Sam as Natasha, Peter, and Steve were nowhere to be seen.

Sam caught Tony’s questioning look when he walked through the door tilted his head to the stairs. Tony silently nodded his thanks and began to head up the stairs as Rhodes went to help Sam.

Tony slowly made his way upstairs, Steve’s voice echoing down the hallway. He was saying something softly, and Tony realized it was coming from Peter’s room. He crept down the hallway and held his hand over the handle of Peter’s bedroom door when Natasha’s voice suddenly made him stop.

Natasha was in there with them.  _ Natasha  _ was there putting  _ his  _ kid to sleep.

Rhodes’ analogy sprung to the front of his mind. Natasha was in there because Tony had left. He had left his kid alone, and she had taken his place.

He had no one to blame but himself.

He didn’t interrupt - it sounded as though they were putting Peter to bed - but instead rested with his head against the doorway and listened in.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve sat on the left of his bed, Natasha at the foot, both watching where Peter sat at the head. His eyes was focused on his knees, which were cradled to his chest as they tried to speak with him as best they could.

“Are you sure you ate enough, Peter?” Natasha asked from where she sat. “We know they didn’t feed you enough, especially with your enhanced metabolism, and you barely ate anything at dinner.”

Of  _ course  _ he didn’t eat enough. They were smart enough to know  _ that _ . But if Peter pretended he was fine, made them think he ate enough, they would leave him alone, and they wouldn’t send him back.

He nodded slightly, and Natasha pursed her lips but let it go.

“Is there anything bothering you, bud?” Steve asked gently, his concerned blue eyes never once leaving Peter’s. “You can talk to us, okay? Please, just tell us if there’s anything you need.”

Peter nodded. “Okay,” he answered quietly. Just enough to give them what they wanted to hear, but not so much so that he breaks a rule. This seemed to please Steve, who smiled (though it looked more like a grimace - even Peter can see that) and nodded slightly.

“Well then,” he continued, his voice sounding falsely cheery, “you think you’re ready for bed, then? And if not, that’s fine. We’ll go back downstairs and watch a movie or something.”

“Sam can attempt to make popcorn again,” Natalie added with a chuckle behind her words. Peter didn’t remember what she was talking about, but  _ she  _ was laughing, so clearly he should be, too.

Natasha smiled at the reaction he gave at her words. What she  _ didn’t  _ know was that he was forcing himself to laugh, so he didn’t get punished for opposing her.

“Come on,” Steve spoke, smiling now, offering a hand out to Peter. “Let’s find you some pajamas.”

Peter stared at the hand in confusion. What - what was this? They were putting a hand out to him, palm up, and there wasn’t a - a knife, or a weapon, or something?

_ It’s another trick _ , his inner voice highlighted for him.  _ Do you want to take it and receive punishment, or ignore it and break Rule Six? _

He stared down at the hand, his heartbeat quickening, his breaths growing heavier. Steve immediately retreated it, causing Peter to panic more.

He didn’t decide.  _ He didn’t decide _ . He had taken too long to choose, and now he was getting an even  _ bigger  _ punishment than he would’ve gotten if he had  _ just chosen _ , but now it was too late, and there was nothing Peter could do, and they were gonna get the sticks and the rods and he just had to  _ endure it _ -

“ _ Peter! _ Peter, can you hear me?” Steve’s voice broke his thoughts as Peter swung his arms out wildly. He had to get away, he  _ had to get away _ -

If he was breaking a Rule, he didn’t care which. He was - he was getting out. He was  _ leaving _ .

His fist came into contact with something, but he was too distraught to focus on it as he stumbled off the hard, metal table and where the cell door was.

“ _ Aw, sweetheart wants to play a game! _ ” his captors shouted from behind him, but he had to leave, had to go somewhere, had to  _ get out _ -

He shoved the cell door, surprised at how easily it had opened when he had tried it so many times before and it hadn’t budged. That didn’t matter  _ now _ , though, because he was  _ free _ , and-

Suddenly, he ran into something that caused him to bounce backwards.

Shit.

_ The guards. _

He had forgotten about the _ guards. _

He had been so eager to get away, he hadn’t noticed them, and now they were going to grab him and bring him back and strap him down to the metal table and- and-

Peter sobbed as hands encompassed his wrists and held them fast.  _ No.  _ No, he wasn’t going back. Not this time.

Peter fought to escape, harder than he ever had before - he kicked and punched and screamed and cried and fought to get out.

He had to escape. He  _ had  _ to - to get back to Tony, and-

Suddenly, he froze.

Tony.

_ Steve _ .

His eyes opened suddenly and he was met with Tony’s wide ones as he gripped his wrists tight, keeping them still.

Peter stayed quiet, panting, as he stared at Tony wide eyes, his own of which he couldn’t move. They were stuck on Tony’s face as he recalled what he had just  _ done _ .

He had just ran into Tony,  _ fought against him _ , and -

Shit.

_ Steve _ .

His head turned and eyes searched behind him wildly until they landed on the blond,who had one hand loosely held at his side. Oh - oh,  _ geez _ -

Peter immediately dropped to his knees as Tony released his wrists in surprise. He bowed his head so low it hurt his back as he revealed as much as his neck as possible, attempting to stay as still as possible, ready for the punishment. He wasn’t getting enough air into his lungs, he  _ couldn’t breathe _ , but he refused to inhale, because then his shoulders would rise, a form of movement, and his punishment would increase, and it would be worse - gosh, it would be  _ so much worse _ -

“Peter?” Tony spoke slowly, pronouncing every syllable, as he lowered himself to Peter’s height. The kid was sitting  _ so still _ , Tony was scared he might’ve been hurt.

But he was sitting there so  _ steady- _

“Peter, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

Peter didn’t respond. He didn’t dare. He waited for the knife, the syringe, whichever punishment they decided to use on him today.

“Peter.” Natasha tried next. “Can you please look at me, Peter? You don’t have to do - whatever this is.”

If Peter wasn’t so  _ deathly terrified _ , he would’ve laughed. Of  _ course _ he had to. He had openly defied Rule Three.  _ No escaping _ .

This punishment was what that Rule had gotten him.

Then Steve tried.

“Peter, buddy, please. It’s  _ us _ . You  _ know  _ us. We would never ask you to do this, we would never do this  _ to  _ you-”

_ Gosh _ , his lungs hurt  _ so. Bad _ . He needed air. He needed it. His chest burned as his vision started to black out. The voices continued to speak around him, but he couldn’t breathe. He had to wait. Just a bit longer, just a  _ little bit _ -

He had never thought this before, but he hoped they would hurry up and  _ punish  _ him already - then at least he could  _ breathe  _ again.

Suddenly, Peter couldn’t hold it anymore. He gasped out a breath as his shoulders heaved and shook. Tony startled beside him.

“Peter, were you holding your breath  _ all that time _ ?”

Peter shook violently under the gaze of these three, much older, powerful adults and the prospect of what they would do to him. They wouldn’t let this one go easily.

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “ _ I’m sorry, I tried to hold my breath, I tried not to move _ -”

And, to the horror of Natasha, Steve, and Tony, Peter once again broke down in tears.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's honest about how he feels. Later, he has a nightmare.

Steve stepped forward to comfort his kid, but Tony held up a shaking hand, the previous events repeating in his mind, and momentarily stopped his advancing.

“Please, Steve,” he spoke quietly. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to - to try to comfort him.” Tony was looking up at Steve, pleading. If Steve had said no, told Tony he wouldn’t leave him alone with Peter, Tony would’ve understood. He wouldn’t fight it, but he also wouldn’t completely abandon his son, either; he’d just stand in the background as Steve helped Peter and…  _ learn _ .

But, to his surprise, Steve nodded slowly, his eyes looking pleased as the corners of his lips twitched up into a smile.

“Okay,” he said quietly, nodding as he slowly stepped around Peter and began to descend the staircase. “Just - call me if you need anything, okay?”

Tony sent him one last smile as Steve turned and walked down the stairs, Natasha following him, leaving Peter alone with his Dad.

Tony turned back to Peter and exhaled slowly.  _ Okay _ . This was his chance to prove that he was a  _ good  _ father. That he wasn’t a failure.

But what scared him, was that he didn’t think he would be able to prove that.

But he would try.

“Hey, Peter,” he spoke softly. Treating Peter like a victim hadn’t made a difference.

Maybe he should be treating him like a  _ son _ .

“It’s just me and you now. Everyone’s left.”

Peter still didn’t move.

It was  _ terrifying _ Tony, how still he was sitting.

He slowly lowered himself to sit beside his kid, his back against the hallway wall, staring straight ahead. Maybe if he wasn’t looking at Peter, the kid might relax.

“Gosh, Peter, I’m  _ so sorry _ ,” he whispered leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry I took so long to get to you - hell, I’m sorry I let them take you in the  _ first  _ place.” He sighed. “And I’m sorry I can’t be the one to help you now.”

Peter’s heart was beating in his throat as he unsurely raised his head. He saw Tony, his head against the wall, eyes closed, and Peter cocked his head in confusion. This - this was his  _ chance _ . Tony had said it himself - it was just the two of them, and if Peter wanted to escape, Tony’s eyes were closed, and Peter could just…  _ leave _ .

But, for some reason, he…  _ didn’t _ . Something was holding him back, keeping him there -  _ with his dad _ .

Peter didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay there with Tony, with Mr. Stark, the man who had stood by him this whole time.

Of course, Tony could pull a complete 180 and start punishing and torturing Peter at any minute. It was like that grace period on the first day of school where the teachers acted nice before they pulled out all the homework and detentions.

But Peter - Peter didn’t feel that with Tony. He felt  _ comfortable  _ with him.

Sure, sometimes Tony moved too fast. Sometimes he said the wrong thing, touched Peter without thinking. But Peter knew - he  _ knew  _ it wasn’t Tony’s fault. There was somewhere, some part, of Peter’s mind that new the truth - that knew that Tony and Steve and Natasha wouldn’t hurt him. That knew that it was all in his own head.

And seeing Tony like this, so quiet, and upset, and  _ vulnerable _ , it just - pulled that part forward.

Slowly, carefully, Peter pushed himself up to his knees. Slowly, he inched over to where Tony was sitting and stopped beside him, waiting. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached a hand up…

and rested it on Tony’s shoulder.

The man’s eyes shot open, and his head flew up, his eyes immediately moving to Peter’s hand on his shoulder, then to Peter himself. The boy quickly dropped his eyes, and lifted his hand off Tony’s shoulder, letting it drop to his lap. He subconsciously beginning to shake, feeling Tony’s eyes on him.

_ He won’t hurt you _ , Peter’s inner voice told him, and Peter fought to listen. He really did, but he - he just  _ couldn’t _ .

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fighting past the barriers those  _ people  _ had put up around him - no, had forced him to put up around  _ himself _ .

“I’m sorry, I - I  _ want  _ to trust you.” It sounded so  _ unnatural  _ to hear himself speak more than a word at a time, and shivers ran up his spine every time he opened his mouth, but he fought through this. Because he  _ had  _ to make sure Tony knew it, make sure he understood.

“But I just…” his voice lowered to a whisper. “ _ Can’t. _ ”

Tony wanted to cry.

His kid - his kid was  _ speaking  _ to him. He had touched him, made eye contact, and  _ admitted _ that he understood the situation. Peter  _ trusted  _ Tony - or, he wanted to, at least. Peter  _ knew _ .

Tony’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as he watched the shuddering form of his kid.

“Peter,” Tony whispered as his eyes filled with tears, somehow both happy and sad at the same time. He couldn’t believe it. His kid - his kid was coming back to him!

Tony wanted to give him a hug. Just pull him into his chest, run a hand through his curls, and cradle him until it all went away. But he couldn’t - not yet.

But he was okay with that. Because Peter was making progress.

_ His kid  _ was making progress.

“Peter, I am so,  _ proud  _ of you,” Tony whispered, watching his kid kneel on the floor. “You’ve stayed so strong, for so long. And I am  _ so _ glad I have you back.”

Tony thought he saw - he wasn’t sure - the shakes, the shuddering, subside at those words. He liked to think they did.

“And I want you to know, that you can take as long as you need to come back to me. And it’s okay if you don’t right away.” He paused, debating how to finish this.

“Because I’m here for you.” He blinked away his tears. “I’ll  _ always  _ be here for you.”

He didn’t imagine Peter’s body relax.

Slowly, Tony got to his feet. “Now, come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Peter slowly followed suit and turned back around, walking into the room he had just run out of. Tony asked him, politely, to sit on the bed as he got out a pair of pajamas from the dresser and left them beside Peter, telling him he was allowed to change if he wanted to.

He was allowed to do  _ anything  _ if he wanted to - sleep, not sleep, change into pajamas, don’t change. Tony made it clear, as best he could, that Peter had no obligation to do  _ anything  _ he didn’t want to, before turning to walk out the door, turning off the lights just as he pulled it shut, leaving a since-silent Peter sitting on the bed.

He didn’t see Peter’s terrified eyes just as the lights went out.

◊ ◊ ◊

When Tony reentered the kitchen where everyone was sitting around the now-cleared table, Steve immediately rose to meet him. Tony smiled at him - the first genuine smile he’d had in  _ months  _ \- and immediately stepped forward to meet Steve halfway, pulling him into a tight hug.

Tony’s hands gripped Steve’s back tightly as he smiled into his shoulder, and Steve slowly raised his arms to place them on Tony’s back. Neither one cared about the people watching - they only cared that their kid was safe, their kid was  _ healthy _ , and their kid  _ trusted them _ (almost, at least).

Tony waited there in Steve’s embrace, letting him hold Tony close, letting himself be comforted.

These last two months had really taken a toll on Tony. He had trouble relaxing, trusting  _ anyone _ . There was a certain time period (though he hated to admit it) where he accused one of the other Avengers of taking Peter. After all, how did they move the kid just as they were arriving to rescue him?

He wasn’t in his right frame of mind.

But now that he had his kid back, everything just seemed to be falling into place. Steve was holding him again, he trusted his fellow Avengers again, and though he knew it would take a while for him to make up for what he had done… he could deal with it.

Because he had Peter back.

And that was all that mattered.

Slowly, Steve detangled Tony from his embrace and held him at arm's length, looking him straight in the eyes.

“You alright?”

Tony nodded as another smile broke out.

“Peter’s okay?”

Tony nodded again as Steve led him to sit beside him at the table.

“Steve, he  _ spoke  _ to me.”

Steve froze in the chair beside him. “ _ What? _ ”

Tony couldn’t hold back the light laughter that broke through his lips.

“He told me,” he started to explain slowly, the people around the table hanging on to his every word, “That he wanted to trust me, but he couldn’t. And that he was sorry.”

Sam spoke up. “What did he mean,  _ he couldn’t _ ?”

“It’s been  _ two months  _ with those criminals, away from his family,” Rhodes explained. “He probably doesn’t know who to trust anymore. He remembers us, sure, but… it’s not the same.”

Steve looked back to Tony.

“You got him to  _ speak _ ?” he asked for clarification. He couldn’t believe it. How had Tony gone from being clueless around the kid to getting him to explain his thought process in less than an hour?

Apparently, Tony was having the same thought, as his eyes rose to meet Natasha’s.

She had her arms crossed across her chest, and she looked like she was sucking on a lemon. She was trying to smile, because the kid was  _ speaking  _ \- but to have Tony get jealous of Natasha’s methods, and then to turn around, use his own, and  _ those  _ worked?

“Sorry, Nat,” he mumbled, still not comfortable with admitting his mistakes - but he had screwed up. He knew that, and he should be apologizing for it.

“Sorry for what, Tony?”

He glared at her smug face. Gosh, he really hated her sometimes.

Everyone else looked on, torn between smirking in Natasha’s direction or glaring in Tony’s.

Tony inhaled deeply as his eyes wandered, looking anywhere but at the humored faces of those sitting around the table.

“I’m sorry - that I got jealous.” He sat back like he was done, but Natasha wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. She nodded.  _ Go on… _

“ _ And _ ,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, “you were just trying to help.”

She was still silently watching him. This was worse than  _ torture _ .

Tony’s heart skipped a beat at his word choice.

This wasn’t worse than torture. This was  _ Tony _ , apologizing to a  _ friend _ . He - he had seen first-hand what torture was like, through Peter, and - geez, Tony  _ hated  _ himself for comparing the two.

Tony’s face softened and his demeanor changed. Apparently it was noticeable, because everyone’s expressions seemed to thaw - even Natasha’s, who just watched him, calculating.

“You were just trying to help, and it was wrong of me to get upset. I’m sorry I yelled at you, and-” he took a breath. “Please don’t leave. Please stay, for Peter’s sake.” Natasha’s arms uncrossed and she leaned forward slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “He needs you.”

In that moment, everyone in the room seemed to form a silent agreement.

There were no sides here, no teams - no one pitted against another. They were all there to help Peter. That was the goal, and they would all work together, and work their hardest, to achieve it.

◊ ◊ ◊

Shortly afterwards, everyone had left the table and went to their respected rooms in the compound, bidding the others goodnight. They all wanted to check on Peter, but Tony refused to allow them to. Peter needed his sleep, and Tony didn’t want to risk waking him.

Steve and Tony had gotten ready for bed without a word, and now they lay in their bed together, covers pulled to their chests, just staring at the ceiling.

Both wanted to speak, but neither knew what to say.

Should Steve address what Tony had said to Natasha?

Should Tony talk to Steve about what Peter had told him?

They were both desperate for answers, but neither knew how to pose their questions.

Steve decided to try first.

“So, Peter spoke to you?”

Tony smiled in the darkness, recalling the memory, and nodded his head. Then, remembering Steve couldn’t see him, he spoke up.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Without prompting, too. I just - just apologized to him for not finding him sooner, and he just… started talking.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to smile.

“How did he sound?”

Tony immediately knew what he was asking. He thought before answering.

“Content, I guess,” he sighed. “There was some anxiety in there, of course - probably scared I - I would  _ punish  _ him-” he shuddered, moving the mattress. Steve found Tony’s hand atop the covers and held it gently, providing comfort. Tony took a breath. “But he’s speaking now, right? I mean, that’s something.”

Steve couldn’t help but agree.

He was going to try to start up a new talking point, but an inhale of breath from beside him told him Tony was going to speak first. He waited patiently.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice was quiet, unsure, and Steve was worried about what was going to come next.

“Of course, Tony, anything.”

A pause, and then -

“How are you staying so calm?”

Steve sighed quietly. He knew this conversation was coming soon - he just hoped he had the means to answer it.

“Our kid isn’t the same as before,” Tony explained. “He calls us  _ Sir _ , he wants us to  _ punish  _ him - he’s waiting for it, he won’t eat or even  _ use the bathroom  _ without us explicitly allowing him to, and-” Tony’s voice cracked. “he flinches. When we move too fast, Steve, he  _ flinches  _ \- he’s  _ scared of us _ !”

Tony had worked himself into quiet hysterics, crying as his breath quickened. He removed his hand from Steve’s to press it against his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs as tears prevented him from seeing anything.

Steve pressed himself up onto his elbow, facing Tony, and gently pried his hands away from his face, rubbing them gently in his own.

“Hey. Hey, Tones, look at me. Listen to my voice.” He spoke quietly, soothingly hushing his partner as his wide, brown eyes slowly came to focus on Steve’s blue ones above him.

“I’m sor-”

Steve cut him off.

“Don’t.”

He lay back down on the bed and pulled Tony in against his chest, feeling his shoulders rise and fall under Steve’s arms as they breathed in unison.

“You want to know how I’m staying so calm?” Steve murmured against Tony’s hair. Tony didn’t respond.

“It’s because I have you.”

Tony scoffed against Steve’s chest.

“I’m serious,” Steve whispered back. “You keep me grounded. If it wasn’t for you…” He sighed. “I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Tony mumbled in agreement as Steve held him tighter. They fell asleep like that, Tony content being held safely in Steve’s strong, protective arms, and Steve whispering soft assurances into his hair.

◊ ◊ ◊

Tony woke to the sound of screaming.

He shot up out of bed, making eye contact with Steve as he connected a name to the voice.

_ Peter _ .

Tony was the first out the door, closely followed by Steve, as he ran down the hallway, blinking the dark spots from his eyes - he didn’t have time to wake himself up before reaching Peter’s door.

He cast one more look at Steve’s worried face before pushing open the door.

His heart caught in his throat. Peter was sitting up on his bed, like he just woke up - but he was sitting  _ horizontally _ , along the shorter end of the bed. His hair was sticking up in every which way, his eyes red and wild. His pajamas were still beside him on the bed where Tony had left them earlier.

Peter’s wide eyes had found Tony and Steve before he forced his head down to stare at his lap, shoulders heaving as he panted. He was  _ shaking _ .

Tony slowly made his way into the room, stopping a few feet from his bed, arms raised in surrender. Steve waited at the door, looking like he was standing guard.

Slowly, breathing heavily, Tony lowered himself to his knees beside Peter’s bed, attempting to make eye contact with the kid. He wouldn’t look up. He simply sat quietly, not making a noise as he shook so violently Tony was worried he might be having a seizure.

“Peter?” Tony spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the battle he knew was going on in Peter’s mind, though the room itself was silent. “It’s me. Your Pops is here, too.”

No reaction.

“Was it a nightmare, bud?”

A sob escaped from Peter’s lips. He hurried to pinch them together so tightly, Tony could see them turn white.

“Peter,” Tony gasped, seeing his kid in pain. “You can cry, kid. You’re allowed to make noises.”

But Peter just shook his head.

“Can I come sit beside you, Peter?” Tony asked quietly, and the pain on his chest released a tiny bit when Peter nodded after a moment of hesitation. Slowly, Tony pushed himself to his feet and walked over to Peter’s bed, taking a seat near the headrest. He didn’t want Peter to be stressed if he sat too close.

“What about your Pops?” Tony continued, noticing Steve standing at the door, a look of sadness on his face.

After a short hesitation, Peter slowly raised and lowered his head once.

Relief flooded Steve’s features as he made his way over to sandwich the kid by sitting at the foot of the bed, Peter between them.

Tony took the opportunity to take a closer look at Peter’s face. He almost recoiled when he saw how  _ red  _ the kid’s eyes were - how dark the bags underneath had become.

“Peter, have you slept?” Tony gasped, looking over the rest of Peter’s body for signs of exhaustion - his shoulders slumped, hands hanging limply at his side, as his feet dangling aimlessly over the edge of the bed. His eyelids were drooping as his breath came out in shuddered gasps. Every inhale sent a fresh wave of  _ pain  _ through Tony’s mind.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered faintly. “I c-couldn’t stay awake.”

Tony actually  _ did  _ recoil when he noticed tears beginning to form in his kid’s eyes, and his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve noticed them, too.

“Peter.” His voice was raspy, and he quietly cleared it. “Please stop clenching your fists.”

Peter was quick to comply.

Steve and Tony shared a look over their kid’s head - a look of sorrow, of guilt, of grief and hopelessness. Tony couldn’t say he didn’t know how to deal with this, because he did - he just didn’t know if he was the right person to be doing so.

Apparently, Steve thought he was. He sent him a look over Peter’s head that seemed to read,  _ Prove yourself _ .

And Tony did.

“Was it a nightmare, kiddo?” Tony asked quietly, yearning to reach his arm out and rub circles onto the kid’s back - but he didn’t dare. Not now.

Peter nodded - short, quick.

As little movement as possible.

“Would you like to talk about it? And it’s okay if you don’t.”

Peter hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

Though Tony knew it was a 50/50 chance and this answer was just as probable as the other one, he had hoped Peter  _ would’ve  _ told him. It would’ve been a sign of trust, and of progress.

But Tony knew they weren’t quite there yet.

“Okay,” he murmured. “That’s alright. We all get nightmares, kiddo.”

Peter nodded slightly, more tears joining the puddles forming on his cheeks.

“Peter, why did you apologize for not staying awake?” Tony could’ve guessed why, but he wanted to be sure. He wanted to be absolutely positive Peter understood the difference between the events of yesterday and the ones of today.

Apparently, he didn’t.

Peter let out a shuddering breath before speaking slowly, quietly.

“You’ll-” he caught himself, recalibrated, and tried again. “ _ They  _ punished me.”

Tony chose to ignore the fact that Peter had essentially just said he was worried of being punished by his parents for  _ sleeping _ , and instead focused his anger on the second part of the statement.

“Peter, they punished you if you fell asleep?” Steve asked, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation when he thought of what they had done to  _ his kid _ .

Peter nodded.

Steve sighed and looked away painfully as Tony kept his eyes focused on his kid. His hunched over, shaking,  _ crying  _ kid.

And he had no idea what to do.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he whispered, because he figured that was a good place to start. “Do you think you’d want to  _ try  _ go back to sleep? I promise we won’t let anything happen-”

Peter was quick to shake his head.

“And is that because you’re not tired, or you’re afraid of punishment?”

Peter didn’t respond.

But Tony felt like that was an answer in itself.

“Okay. Why don’t we head downstairs and watch a movie, then? Does that sound good to you?”

Tony pretended not to notice the small smile that grew on his kid’s face as he nodded, and he found himself smiling as well. He stood from the bed with Steve and Peter followed shortly after, both adults smiling at the fact that he did it without being asked. Steve led the way out of the room, Tony at the back, Peter sandwiched between the two.

Peter was surprised that he didn’t feel claustrophobic at the situation. Instead, he felt…  _ safe _ . Protected. He trusted these men - his  _ fathers _ . His Dad and his Pops. Gosh, he had to get used to using those words. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with it yet, but he guessed he would be soon. He’s been making so much progress already….

Steve led him down the hall into the large t.v. room and nodded to the couch, letting him know he could take a seat. Though Peter still reacted like it was an order, Steve felt he would’ve done the action anyways, and so he pretended it didn’t affect him as he took a seat as well.

Tony came in last and sat beside him, taking the remote from the couch between him and Peter. The couch could comfortably sit four people, but Tony wanted to be sure Peter was comfortable with his own space, so they sat on opposite ends, Steve in the armchair beside Tony.

Tony flipped through the large assortment of movies he had placed in the “Peter” file, asking Peter to pick, but the kid just shrugged when posed a direct question, and when there was no direct question, he just waited, still and quiet.

Finally, with the help of Steve, Tony settled on one of the Star Wars movies - the first one to come up - as the franchise had always been one of Peter’s favourites. He sat back on the couch and tried to relax, his hand linked with Steve between the two pieces of furniture, as Peter sat stiff beside them.

Tony tried to ignore how his hands were tightly placed at his sides, his back never once moving from its fixed position, and his eyes focused on the t.v. - seeing, but not watching.

He tried to ignore how the kid flinched whenever a loud noise echoed from the speakers, or a sudden bright blast filled the screen.

Tony missed the fun facts, the comments, he had gotten when watching this movie with Peter in the past. No matter how annoying it was for him before and how difficult it made it for Tony to follow the storyline, he didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to hear that laughter-filled voice again.

Tony looked up, startled, when he felt movement on the couch beside him by the time four a.m. rolled around. The kid had slumped over, his head angled towards Tony, one of his arms splayed out on the couch between the two.

Peter’s neck was being held at an angle Tony  _ knew  _ couldn’t be comfortable, but he refused to reach over to adjust him, or even give him a pillow - goodness knows the kid needed his sleep.

Suddenly, he jostled himself awake, his eyes searching the room wildly. Tony and Steve looked away before Peter noticed them looking and quickly resumed his previous position.

Tony’s heart panged at the thought of his kid being afraid to sleep, afraid to be  _ caught  _ sleeping, and so he refused to think about it.

Steve moved from his spot in the armchair, instead sitting on the armrest beside Tony, and let the latter lean his head onto Steve’s side as they finished watching the movie. (But honestly, if you asked either one what the movie was about, or even what it was  _ called _ , they wouldn’t have been able to tell you.)

By the time the red numbers on the clock changed to four-thirty, the two men were asleep, holding each other close.

Peter still was not.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes extreme measures to help Peter heal - but it seems to do more harm than good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor verbal abuse from a parent to a child

When Peter heard snoring, he looked to his left in surprise. Tony and Steve, they were… asleep? They had left Peter alone in the room without watching him -  _ why _ ? Did they have cameras set up? Were they waiting for him to make a wrong move?

_ Stop _ , the more rational side of him reasoned.  _ They’re your dads. They would never hurt you. _

Peter knew he agreed. Somewhere down deep, he agreed wholeheartedly.

It was just hard to let that part of him win sometimes.

He remained seated on the couch for the remainder of the movie, until it was about five. Then, he watched the credits, still not moving a muscle. If there was a camera; if they  _ were  _ watching him (which he knew wasn’t likely, but still); he wanted to prove he could be  _ good _ . He wasn’t a bad kid. They wouldn’t have to send him back.

Because that was still a very real possibility. Even if they wouldn’t inflict the punishments themselves (or would they?) they could still send Peter to someone who  _ would _ .

Peter remained on the couch, frozen, an aching throb flowering behind his eyes as he fought to keep them open. He couldn’t sleep - they didn’t allow him to. The throbbing on his left forearm reminded him to never forget Rule Two.

Occasionally, he would dig his fingers into his palms to wake himself up. He didn’t think it was working, though, because now the crescents on his palm were beginning to bleed, and he was still tired.

Finally, he saw the blinds in front of the windows begin to glow orange.  _ The sun’s coming up _ , he thought with relief.  _ They’ll have to wake soon. _

Apparently, they didn’t.

The windows weren’t glowing as brightly anymore as the sun had already risen past them, the pins and needles in Peter’s legs begging him to move them, the dark spots in his eyes begging him to sleep.

He did nothing of the sort, though. He had been awake for a  _ lot  _ longer than this before - he could handle it.

To be fair, in the past it had been the constant pain and fear that kept him up, but he was sure he’d get more of that soon enough here.

Peter’s heart practically jumped out of his chest when he heard footsteps behind him.

_ You didn’t sleep, _ his inner voice reassured him.  _ You didn’t move. They can’t punish you for anything. _

_ There were times they didn’t need excuses _ , Peter responded, but he remained still all the same as the footsteps came closer, seemed to stop right behind the couch…

and then receded.

Peter found himself breathing a sigh of relief as he blinked back tears. Oh, gosh, he thought he was  _ passed  _ this. He thought he was better. He thought he had moved on.

Apparently, he hadn’t.

A glance to the clock above the t.v. told Peter it was eight a.m., and he couldn’t figure out why Tony and Steve weren’t awake yet. He hadn’t been moving, hadn’t been  _ sleeping _ , for the last five hours, and he guessed if they were waiting for him to mess up to punish him, they would’ve given up and revealed themselves by now.

_ So they were actually asleep _ .

In the silent hours that had passed, Peter got to thinking. Tony and Steve hadn’t hurt him yet. They hadn’t done anything to punish him. Maybe they  _ were  _ telling the truth. They were Peter’s dads.He was  _ safe  _ with them.

And he was finally starting to believe it.

Still, though, Peter wasn’t allowed to move. He knew this for sure - and it wasn’t as a result of his captors. It was just being respectful, right? If someone’s taking care of you, you don’t do anything unless they tell you to. This wasn’t Peter recovering from a kidnapping - this was a common courtesy. No big deal.

And, actually, now that Peter thought about it, the  _ no sleeping  _ thing wasn’t a bad thing, either.

Tony and Steve had taken him in, fed him, actually been  _ kind  _ to him. He wouldn’t be so rude as to put that aside and do whatever he wanted. That wasn’t nice.

Peter had acted this way before, he remembered, before he was captured. He had never slept without his dads telling him to, never eaten without explicitly spoken words. What Peter was doing right now, this was normal. Yes, he was sure - this was the way things had always been.

Peter smiled at the fact that now, he was finally healed.

Now, he was back to normal.

Peter heard a groan emit from one of the men beside him, being followed not long after by the second man. Peter remained still, but not because he was frightened, but because this was just how he was supposed to act. No big deal.

The couch dipped slightly as one of the two men - Tony, probably - readjusted himself, and Steve rose from the couch, barely entering the field of Peter’s vision. Peter remained staring straight - it would’ve been rude of him to turn and look - but watched from the corner of his eye as Steve yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Peter.

Blinked.

Rubbed his eyes again.

Squinted.

“Peter, are you awake?”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter answered lightly, still staring straight ahead. Tony suddenly bolted up from the couch to stand directly in front of Peter, so Peter was now staring just above Tony’s belt. He refused to meet Tony’s eyes because he hadn’t been asked to. He wasn’t going to disrespect Tony.

Peter felt tension in the air. He had no idea why, but he didn’t want to ask. It really wasn’t his place.

“Have you slept at all, kid?” Tony’s voice was raspy after being asleep for so long, but he sounded wide awake. Not the slightest bit tired.

Not anymore, at least.

Tony looked down at his kid, a feeling of dread, of  _ horror _ , creeping its way up his spine at the way Peter looked… peaceful. Content. Perfectly at ease.

Peter shook his head, staring straight at Tony’s stomach.

Tony dropped to his knees to meet Peter’s eyes, but Peter still wasn’t looking at him. Well, he didn’t move his eyes, so he was  _ staring  _ right at Tony, but he wasn’t…  _ seeing _ . His eyes looked clouded over, and - and  _ devoid  _ of any emotion.

With a jolt, Tony realized there was more than the Peter of two months ago and the Peter of yesterday. There was more than happy Peter and scared Peter. Now, there was also…  _ ghost  _ Peter. Tony had no idea who  _ ghost Peter  _ was.

And that terrified him.

“Peter, why didn’t you sleep?” Steve asked quietly, joining Tony on the ground. The two men were crouched around the boy, hoping to provide comfort or support, but Peter didn’t seem to be needing any. He was just…  _ sitting _ . Not moving. He was frozen, and if Tony didn’t know any better, he would think it was a fear response.

But Peter was  _ smiling _ .

“You didn’t tell me I could,” he responded easily, and Steve sighed.

“Peter, you don’t have to be scared to sleep, okay? And you don’t need explicit permission, you can do anything you’d like whenever you’d like to. Sleep, eat, whatever.”

“Oh, I wasn’t scared.” A chill seeped through Tony’s bones at how easily Peter was responding, when he had been shying away from conversation not even 24 hours ago.

Tony would never admit it, but he was terrified of this boy before him.

“I just didn’t want to disrespect you.”

Tony turned to look at Steve, who had his head cocked in confusion, eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean  _ disrespect us _ , kid?” Tony asked, not being able to fathom what the  _ heck  _ Peter was talking about.

“I’m better now, don’t you see?” Tony had to suppress a shudder. He had never heard the kid speak like this before - this cold, with a stony edge to his voice. He had  _ no idea  _ what it meant. “You guys saved me from the bad guys, helped me learn I was safe, and now I’m back to normal.”

“Peter, I - Peter, look at me.” Peter’s eyes focused on Tony’s, and his smile deepened, just a little-

but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Peter, I need you to answer this honestly. Do you think you’re back to normal?”

Peter’s eyebrows raised ever slightly, and he nodded once, as if to say,  _ duh _ (which Tony would’ve actually preferred - it would’ve meant Peter was  _ really _ back to his snarky self), before returning his head to its fixed position.

Tony’s heart sank in his chest as he collapsed back onto his heels. He didn’t know what was worse - Peter, clearly scarred and recovering but understanding what was wrong, or - or  _ this _ , this shell of a boy that believed everything was fine when clearly, the opposite was true.

“T - Tony,” Steve’s cracked voice whispered from beside him. “Can I speak to you a moment, please?”

The mechanic followed the super soldier behind the couch in a daze - out of Peter’s eyesight and earshot, but they could still see him.

And he didn’t move a muscle.

As soon as Tony was sure Peter couldn’t see him, he let his face fall into what he had been feeling all morning (which had really only been a few minutes, though it had felt like hours) - loss. Hopelessness. Despair.

Steve’s face mirrored his own as the two reached out to clasp the other’s hand, a soft reassurance that they were together, that they were supported.

“What happened, Steve?” Tony whispered, his brows furrowing, unshed tears making their way to the corners of his eyes.  _ It was too early for this _ .

Steve just shrugged, looking equally lost. He opened his mouth, then closed it, looked around aimlessly, and finally opened it again.

“He thinks he’s back to normal - but it’s been  _ two months _ , Tony. What if he doesn’t remember what normal  _ is _ ?”

Tony felt a slap to the face at the sudden realization. How could he  _ forget _ ? All the missions the trio had went on together, all the wholehearted  _ love  _ Peter had received - the game nights and movie marathons, how could Peter  _ forget _ ?

“But what changed?” Tony continued, his voice sounding like it never had before - cracked, and broken. “From last night, when he was being  _ honest  _ with me, to now, what changed? He  _ understood  _ last night, Steve. He knew what was going on. What happened?”

Steve thought for a moment, before sudden realization dawned on him.

“Was that better, Tony? How he was acting last night, was that better?”

Tony hesitated before nodding. Ideally, their Peter of two months ago was better, but Tony knew that wasn’t really an option.

Steve exhaled slowly.

“I might know what to do,” he muttered, “but I’m not completely sure it’ll work.”

“What, you think you can get him back to acting how he was last night?”

“That’s easier to deal with, right?”

Tony paused for a moment. “Easier for us, sure-” He thought over his next words before speaking. “What about for  _ Peter _ , though? Right now he has it all hiding behind a wall. What’ll happen if it all comes crashing down?”

“Tony, this is Peter two months ago.” Steve held the hand free from Tony’s level with his eyes. “Yesterday, he was here.” He moved his hand to his shoulder. Then, he removed his hand from Tony’s grasp and held it below his first hand, before moving said hand even lower so it reached his stomach. “Here he is now. At the bottom. And he put up a wall,” he shook the hand on top, “between him, and what had happened.

“Clearly, this is further away from the Peter we know than he was last night. And the reason he’s coping so well is because he has a  _ wall _ . But do you really want Peter to live his life with that wall?” Steve let his arms fall and laced Tony’s fingers once again in his own. “What I suggest we do, is break down that wall.”

The expression on Tony’s face after that statement - the hurt, and shock, and  _ betrayal _ \- was exactly what Steve expected. He just needed Tony to give the idea, to give  _ Steve _ , a chance.

“It’s going to hurt-”

“ _ Damn right _ , it’ll hurt.”

“-but would you rather have it come down later on, accidentally, when he’s almost okay again?”

Tony closed his mouth and stared at Steve, debating. He still looked hurt, but at least the betrayal was gone.

Tony understood Steve had Peter’s best interests at heart. And right now, was there anything that mattered more?

“Okay,” Tony spoke, his voice barely being heard. “Fine. How do you suggest we do it?”

Steve ran a comforting finger over the back of Tony’s hand, knowing the mechanic would have difficulty agreeing with what he said next.

“We have to… to trigger him.” Tony stiffened. “Make him relapse.”

“Abso-” Tony stopped himself when he realized he had spoken too loud. He quickly turned to Peter, but after seeing the kid hadn’t moved ( _ why hadn’t he moved? _ ) he turned back around to Steve with a passionate fury in his eyes and quieted his voice, spitting his next words through gritted teeth.

_ “Absolutely not!” _

Tony seemed not to notice Steve was still holding his hand, so Steve took the chance to attempt to squeeze it comfortingly, but Tony pulled it back like it had been burnt.

“Tony, please. It may be the only way to break down his wall. Would you rather have this shell of a boy?” Tony hesitated, thinking back to the coldness that seeped through his veins when he had heard Peter speak not ten minutes ago. “This isn’t Peter, and you know it. It’s our job to help him, Tony. We can’t fail him.”

The two made eye contact, and it was clear what either was thinking - what they  _ both  _ were thinking.

_ We can’t fail him. Not again. _

“Is there any other way?” Tony felt like crying. How was he supposed to do this to his kid? He had finally started to  _ trust  _ them again, and now they were going to just tear that away?

Steve shook his head sadly, and Tony saw in his eyes the hesitancy and fear that he was sure were mirrored in his own. The fact that Steve really was regretful, that’s what finally allowed Tony to cave.

“Okay,” he sighed, finally giving in. He just hoped Peter wouldn’t hate them for what they were about to do, whatever that was. “What’s the plan?”

◊ ◊ ◊

Tony’s heart had sunk to the ground - no, even lower than the ground - by the time he had made it back around to the front of the couch.

Peter still had yet to move. He was staring straight ahead, hands folded neatly in his lap, posture straight but relaxed, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile.

Tony wondered what he was smiling about.

Then he wondered if he even wanted to know

Their plan had multiple layers, because Peter had multiple triggers. Tony hoped, he  _ prayed  _ to whatever divine being was listening, that he would break after the first or second one. Because the trigger they had lined up as a last resort-

Tony didn’t even want to think about it.

Steve did the talking, because they both agreed Tony wouldn’t be able to be as firm as he needed to be to tear down the walls.

Plus, if Peter was - was  _ frightened  _ of Steve after, which was a  _ deeply  _ dreaded but very real possibility, he needed to feel safe around at least  _ one _ of his parents to comfort him.

“Peter. Up, now.”

Tony’s breath quickened at the harsh tone in Steve’s voice. It was loud, demanding - one Tony had never heard before. Even though Tony knew how much Steve was opposed to this plan, how much he really didn’t want to speak to Peter this way, it physically hurt Tony to hear the love of his life speaking with such harshness towards his son.

Tony turned to Peter, expecting his eyes to be wide with fear as he obeyed the order, but instead he saw… the  _ opposite _ .

Peter stood after the command, but it was more relaxed, like he was simply standing to greet a friend. There was still a trace of a smile on his lips, and his eyes met Steve’s without difficulty, which worried Tony more than anything.

Steve’s eyes were cold, demanding, and even Tony had to look away. It  _ terrified  _ Tony to see the  _ harshness  _ in Steve’s eyes, those that used to hold the calmest waters now containing the strongest storms. But what terrified Tony even more, was how Peter’s eyes, wide and innocent, were meeting Steve’s without hesitation.

_ He trusts you _ , a voice in the back of Steve’s head spoke when he watched Peter smile up at him.  _ He trusts you not to hurt him. Are you ready to go back on that trust? _

It took all of Steve’s strength not to cave right then and there - not to drop to his knees and pull his kid into the tightest hug he had ever given in his long, long life.

_ He’ll never forgive you _ .

This, Steve knew. He knew Peter would never be able to make eye contact with him again after this. He  _ knew  _ that after what he had to do next, he might have to say goodbye to Peter for good.

As long as Peter was well enough to dismiss him.

As long as Peter went on living as more than a shell, living as the smiling young boy he once was, Steve could live on without him, knowing Peter was being the best version of himself he could be.

It would  _ kill  _ Steve to say goodbye to his kid, to have to hurt him in such a way that Peter would never forgive him, but maybe - maybe it was something he had to do.

Steve would rather live loving a happy, joyous Peter from afar, than living with the shell of a boy he once used to know up close.

“What did we tell you about eye contact?” he growled, surprising even himself with the venom he forced into his voice - but he knew it had to be done. He had to tear down that wall.

Steve  _ hated  _ referring to himself as apart of the “we” that did this to his kid. He  _ hated  _ forcing Peter to retreat into what  _ they  _ had made him into. But that was better than the wall…

wasn’t it?

Peter’s smile faltered and his eyes flitted down to Steve’s chest.

“Sorry, Sir.” He spoke quietly, but he - he wasn’t exactly  _ submissive  _ yet.

Steve prayed for the boy to show  _ something _ . Maybe shed some tears,  _ anything  _ to tell Steve his wall had come down, and he didn’t have to proceed with the next part of the plan. His heart twisted with the pain of doing this to his kid, and he - he just  _ couldn’t  _ hold the anger in his eyes when he looked at the young boy he had raised, the young boy he had raised with the man he loved most in the world.

The man who was watching him, horrified, from the corner of his eye right now.

Steve turned his head to meet the gaze of Tony’s wide eyes, and he hoped Tony would yell at him, right then and there, and stop him from continuing with the plan. Keep him from proceeding anymore. He didn’t know if he would be able to carry out the last part of what they had said to do.

And he was so convinced Tony  _ would  _ stop him.

Until, with tears in his eyes, the man just looked down…

and nodded.

Steve’s heart shattered at the prospect of what he had to do.

Steve sighed deeply and he turned back to his kid, everything seeming to move in slow motion.

He hoped that he would see Peter crying. And he hated that he was hoping for that, but it meant he could  _ stop _ , that he wouldn’t have to - to  _ abuse  _ his kid any longer.

But all he saw was Peter’s eyes flicking up curiously. And Steve, with a heavy heart, knew what he had to do.

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t actually think you were  _ free _ , did you?”

And with that word, Peter finally cracked.

Sobs wracked through his body as his chin dropped to his chest, and he let out the most heart-wrenching cry Steve had ever heard in his  _ life _ . A sharp pain entered his heart as he realized, he had done it. He had  _ broke  _ his kid.

Steve couldn’t keep his tough demeanor anymore.

His face crumbled as tears came cascading down and he rushed forwards to help his kid.

But Peter flinched.

He flinched so violently he stumbled backwards, his sobs coming out as a rasping stutter.

“D-don’t… don’t  _ touch me _ !”

Steve wanted to die.

Tony rushed forward instead, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders and holding him tight to his chest, pulling him back onto the couch and rocking the young boy gently. He met Steve’s eyes over his matted curls and nodded slightly, before squeezing his eyes shut, tears threatening to overcome them.

Well, their plan had succeeded. Peter was miserable again.

_ Gosh _ , why had Steve thought this was a good idea?  _ He _ had done this. He had reduced his kid to nothing, to a sobbing mess. He had-

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Suddenly, it clicked as to why Tony had been watching Steve, so horrified.

Steve had been abusing his kid.

He had been no better than Howard.

Steve stared down at his family, huddled on the couch, crying in each other’s arms. He himself felt like doing the same.

The super soldier had never felt as small and  _ weak _ as he did in that moment. What he had just said to his kid, the words he had just used to  _ abuse  _ his child, repeated themselves over in his mind.

What memories had he just brought to the surface? What terrible thoughts had he just unveiled in his child’s mind?

The child he had promised to keep safe when he rescued him just a day ago - he had just gone back on that promise. Probably scarred Peter for life in the process.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Peter never wanted to see him again.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open as he continued to rock Peter, sobbing, back and forth on the couch. He lifted his face from Peter’s curls just long enough to mouth,  _ It’s okay. _

But it wasn’t.

Steve knew that.

And Tony probably did, too.

Steve just shook his head slowly and looked away, and Tony looked on sadly, before continuing to whisper soft assurances into his kid’s hair. Right now, his energy needed to be spent on Peter. He would make sure Steve was okay after.

Footsteps announced the presence of Natasha, running into the room, looking frazzled. Her wide eyes met Steve’s, who just shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked away, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. Natasha had never seen him looking so  _ small  _ before, and it terrified her beyond belief.

Her eyes then turned to Tony, demanding an explanation.

_ Later _ , he mouthed, but Natasha wouldn’t take that for an answer. She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere.

_ Fine _ , Tony caved. Natasha nodded her head to the couch beside him, asking to sit, and Tony allowed her. Peter didn’t have a problem with  _ people _ , just… Steve.

Just his Pops.

Natasha gently took a seat beside the two and began to run a hand through Peter’s hair comfortingly. He tensed and she immediately retreated her hand, but Tony just shushed him quietly.

“It’s just Natasha, bud, okay?”

Peter nodded, sniffling, and reburied his head in Tony’s chest. Natasha placed her hand gently back over his curls, and there the trio sat, crying on the couch.

They didn’t know that Steve was upstairs, alone, looking at himself in the mirror.

Trying to recognize the man he saw staring back.

But all he saw was a stranger.

A terrifying, abusive stranger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers sort out who Peter's comfortable with, and who he isn't.

As Peter sat crying into his dad’s chest, a small group began to form in the living room, being alerted first by Natasha’s extended absence, then the sniffling that came from the room. First it was Sam, nodding a greeting to the pair before sitting on a chair opposite them; then Rhodes, sitting on Tony’s right.

Bucky opted to remain standing by the doorway, almost hidden behind the structural beam, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but still hiding his metal arm behind his back. He seemed startled at the absence of Steve just as everyone else was surprised to see him there, once again among the group, but he just shrugged them off and focused solely on Tony, giving him a look that seemed to hold a thousand emotions - guilt, worry,  _ fear _ \- and also ask a question.

_ Is it okay for me to be here? _

Tony hesitated. Peter was already so shaken up by Steve - could he deal with the presence of a metal arm, too?

“Go check up on Steve,” he whispered, barely audible, nodding upstairs, and a small gasp emitted from Peter at the sudden movement from his dad’s chest. He immediately hushed him back to silence as Natasha continued to gently brush back his curls, everyone looking on in confusion. Since when had these two become so comforting and soothing? Well, they expected it from Tony - it was his  _ kid _ , for goodness sake - but  _ Natasha _ ? An honest-to-goodness  _ assassin _ ?

The kid had changed them.

A look of sadness, of  _ disappointment _ , flickered across Bucky’s features before he turned and started to walk up the stairs, the rest of the group watching him go sadly. He wasn’t surprised - he knew he wouldn’t be accepted in that kind of environment; he just hoped he might’ve been for once.

How many times was he going to feel like a  _ monster  _ with this chunk of metal for an arm?

They had gotten Hydra out of his head. He was no longer under their control.

But he wasn’t completely free from them.

And he didn’t ever think he would be.

A cloud of self-pity hanging heavy above his head, he reached the door to Steve and Tony’s room, which was ajar, revealing Steve, leaning heavy on top of the vanity, looking himself hard in the mirror. He didn’t seem to notice Bucky’s approach, even though the door was directly behind the mirror, easily visible.

Bucky creeped into the room and gently closed the door behind him, the sound finally alerting Steve of his presence. He straightened and snapped his head around quickly, relaxing when he saw it was only Bucky.

He gave a small smile, to which Bucky gently returned, before stuffing his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the dresser, and looking down at the carpet, refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“What happened?” Bucky asked softly, and Steve immediately felt himself relaxing with his friend’s soothing voice, a voice that represented comfort, and safety. (He didn’t relax completely, though - what he said to his son, the words he said, the tone he used, never let themselves be forgotten.)

Steve just shook his head. “I abused him,” he spoke softly, and Bucky froze, his eyes squinted, analyzing. Steve wasn’t capable of anything like that, Bucky knew for a fact.

He waited for Steve to continue, but he didn’t, so Bucky spoke up instead, with a simple-

“How?”

Steve met his eyes, and for the first time Bucky noticed how  _ hollow _ they looked - how  _ lost _ , red-rimmed with tears.

“I said things that no father should  _ ever  _ say to a child.”

Bucky’s concern was growing with every word spoken.  _ Why was he being so cryptic? _ He wanted to grab his best friend by the shoulders and shake him,  _ hard _ . Tell him to focus up, because this whole self-pitying thing didn’t suit Steve.  _ At all. _

“Tell me,” he said instead, forcing his voice to be gentle. He knew Steve wouldn’t respond the other method. He pretended to be strong and tough, but he couldn’t hide from Bucky - he was really just a big softy.

Bucky nodded his head to the bed, moving to take a seat, followed not long after by Steve, leaning forwards so his elbows were on his knees, staring somewhere straight ahead.

He took a deep breath and, beginning to end, told the whole story.

◊ ◊ ◊

Eventually, Peter’s cries subsided into shallow gasps. Tony slowly readjusted him so he was sitting between Natasha and him on the couch, though Tony remained gripping his hand tightly.

Peter kept his head down, his eyes occasionally straying to Tony’s hand holding his, confused by the act of a finger running soothingly over his knuckles.

Peter couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting what had happened. Of course he had - he had been preparing for it since they “rescued” him. He hated himself for actually beginning to feel relaxed, and  _ safe _ , with them.

He should’ve known he would never truly feel that way again.

The question was, why was Tony acting so considerate with him now? He had just broken Rules One, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight,  _ and  _ Nine. All at once.

His heart quickened at the trepidation of what would happen to him next. He hadn’t broken this many Rules since that first week-

Oh, that punishment had been  _ awful _ . Peter shuddered at the thought.

He froze suddenly when the finger stopped moving around his knuckles.

_ Here comes the punishment, here comes the punishment- _

“Shh, it’s okay, buddy, breathe.”

Peter tensed up, staring down at his legs in confusion.

Why was Tony being so nice to him?

“What happened?” a voice asked from across the room. Peter recognized it from the table last night, but he couldn’t place a name to it. All he knew was that shivers ran down his spine when he heard it speak.

“He was putting up walls and acting…  _ not  _ like himself, so Steve came up with the idea to -  _ trigger  _ him. Cause him to relapse.” Peter’s heart skipped a beat when he heard that  _ name _ , the hardened eyes and sharp voice piercing his thoughts. He started to lean into Tony for comfort, but froze when he heard the next words.

“And I agreed.”

Suddenly, the scene from minutes ago reappeared in Peter’s mind. But this time, he wasn’t focused on the man in front of him - but the man off to the side.

Watching.

Doing nothing.

Peter’s breath quickened as he righted himself again, fully conscious of his hand still gripped tight in Tony’s. The finger that had felt so soothing just a moment ago was now constricting, holding him back. It brought forward a sense of  _ danger  _ in Peter’s mind and he had to get away,  _ had to get away _ .

But he couldn’t go anywhere.

Wait, no one was talking.

_ Why was no one talking? _

What punishments did they have set up for Peter?

What were they going to do to him?

Natasha, sounding horror-stricken, spoke up from beside him.

“What did you  _ do _ ?”

Peter heard movement from his right - probably Tony shaking his head - but Natasha persisted.

“What did you  _ do _ , Tony?”

The anger in her voice made Peter want to curl up in a ball.  _ Why was she so mad? Was it at  _ him _? _

A new voice pitched in from Peter’s right side, but it wasn’t Tony’s.

“Not in front of him,” he spoke softly, and with a shudder Peter realized  _ him  _ was referring to - well,  _ him _ .

_ Why were they talking about him? _

Peter sat as still as possible, not wanting to move, to draw attention to himself. And for a while, it was working. The group around him was silent, and he decided that was a good sign. Silence was better than yelling…

right?

Until a hand was placed on his back.

Peter gasped and flinched so hard he flew off the couch and landed on the floor, facing the couch fearfully. His chest was heaving, his heart beating in his ears, as his wide eyes found a shocked Tony and a startled Natasha on the couch watching him, Tony’s hand held frozen mid-air.

Phantom touches were racing down Peter’s back as his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Tony and Natasha were watching him from the front, Rhodes to the side, and Sam from the back.

He was surrounded.

No one in the room wanted to speak.

Suddenly, Peter took notice of everything in the room he hadn’t before.

All the stray pieces of machinery.

The glasses and alcohol bottles.

Screws and shards of metal

The knives from the table before.

The fireplace.

But Peter knew from experience, he knew from  _ Steve _ , that he didn’t need any of that to hurt him.

No, they just needed their words.

◊ ◊ ◊

Bucky sat diligently, listening to Steve - and when he finished, staring straight ahead and refusing to make eye contact, Bucky took a while to speak, to think over his words.

Bucky knew Steve wouldn’t have done what he did if there was another option, another way, and he knew his friend wasn’t serious in what he did, what he  _ said _ .

Still, he didn’t know Steve was  _ capable  _ of doing something like that.

Which just proved how dire the situation was.

“You just did it to help Peter?” Bucky asked quietly, trying to make eye contact with his friend - but all he got was a side profile.

Steve was still refusing to look him in the eye.

He nodded quickly, clearing his throat.

“Of course.”

“And was there any other way?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Steve shook his head - but he still looked bothered.

“Well then, Steve, you just did it to help your son. That’s all.”

“Buck-”

“Did you mean what you said?”

Steve straightened, startled, and stared at Bucky, eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Of course not.”

Bucky shrugged like that settled it.

“There was no other way, Steve. You did what you had to do, and Peter’s better because of it.”

“ _Did you see him?_ ” Steve hissed, like it wasn’t possible for him to speak any louder. “He was terrified of me, Buck. He _flinched away_ from me.” Bucky tried to interrupt, but Steve just shook his head. “It was my plan. And now my kid is _terrified_ of me. I did that, Buck. _Me_. And just as he was starting to trust me, too.”

Bucky sat, frozen, debating what to say next. But before he had the chance to, Steve spoke up again.

“Will he ever look at me the same way again?”

Bucky wanted to be able to comfort his friend, to say those special words that would convince him that this  _ wasn’t his fault _ , but he didn’t know what they were. Bucky had  _ no idea  _ what Steve was going through, and so he didn’t know how to help him out.

He would try, though, because Steve was his friend. Steve hadn’t fallen off a train, lost his arm, been brainwashed by an evil group to murder and cause destruction and chaos, but he still found a way to help Bucky.

So Bucky would do the same for him.

“Steve, that’s over and done with now,” said quietly, fighting to make eye contact with Steve, to get him to  _ understand _ . “It was something you had to do, and Peter’s better for it. Now, do you  _ want  _ him to be scared of you?”

Again, Steve got that horrified look on his face as he shook his head vigorously.

“Then change it.”

Suddenly, a  _ BANG  _ was heard from downstairs, like something heavy had fallen. Steve and Bucky shared startled looks before rising at the same time and running to the noise, Steve leading, Bucky tight on his heels.

They reached the living room, Steve’s stomach churning the whole way at the memories that arose from this room.

Bucky stumbled to a stop, looking into the room the noise had so clearly emitted from.

In the middle of the floor sat Peter, looking anxious, chest heaving. He was facing the couch on which Rhodes, Steve, and Natasha sat, Tony’s arm suspended in midair. Behind him sitting in an armchair was Sam. They all looked confused as Peter sat, frozen, wide eyes buzzing around anxiously.

Tony shot a wild look to Steve, looking lost, before slowly lowering his hand - but Peter flinched.

He  _ flinched _ .

At an action as small as that.

Bucky assessed the scene.

Had Tony  _ hit him _ ?

And if Peter was scared of both Steve  _ and  _ Tony….

What happened now?

“Peter,” Tony spoke quietly, slowly lowering himself off the couch and onto the floor - but Peter scrambled back, hitting his head against the wall behind him, the one free of couches or chairs.

He was now efficiently backed into a corner.

Peter’s eyes searched the room crazily, before landing on Bucky.

He looked at him like he was confused, like he didn’t remember who he was.

Bucky wondered if he remembered  _ at all _ . He took the conscious action to hide his hand, glad he had worn long sleeves, in case Peter really  _ didn’t  _ remember. He didn’t want to remind him again and freak the kid out more.

Peter’s eyes drifted from the strangely familiar man in the doorway to the one behind him.  _ Steve.  _ A new wave of panic raced through him and he backed up even further, wanting to squish himself into the wall. He couldn’t go back any further.

Then they moved to the solitary man in the armchair.  _ Sam _ , he remembered, his comments from the table also bubbling to the surface.  _ No.  _ He didn’t like Sam, either.

Then over to the other couch, in front of which Tony was crouched on the floor, wide eyes focused on him. On Peter.

No. No, no - Tony had stood by and  _ watched  _ while Steve did...  _ that  _ to him. No, Tony - he wasn’t  _ safe  _ with Tony.

His eyes moved to the redhead on Tony’s left, Natasha, and the man on his right, Rhodes.

They - they hadn’t done anything, right? No, they were fine. Peter  _ thought _ .

But then again, they were with  _ these  _ people. With Tony and Steve and Sam.

Could he really trust  _ anyone _ ?

Well, he guessed not - but out of the six, those three seemed the most gentle. And whatever they did to him wouldn’t be as bad as the other three.

Or maybe they were like Steve, trying to establish trust before they turned on him and- and-

Peter shut his eyes, ignoring the warnings it set off in his brain, and tried to breathe deeply. There was too much going on,  _ too much _ . Too many thoughts and words and  _ people _ -

“There’s too many of us,” the new voice from the door spoke, and Peter’s eyes flew open in surprise.

_ Could he read minds? _

No, that was crazy….

Right?

“I’ll go,” the voice Peter associated with Rhodes spoke, and Peter’s eyes flicked to him, widening in fear. Sam took notice.

“No, Rhodey, not you.” Peter flinched back at the sound of Sam’s voice, and he noticed this, too. “Me. He’s-” Sam sighed. Was Peter imagining the disappointment in Sam’s voice? Was Sam hoping to stay and… and do  _ something  _ to him?

And how did Sam know what he wanted, anyways?

“I’ll go.”

“No, Sam -  _ what _ ?” Tony spoke incredulously, and Peter hit his head on the wall in an attempt to back up even further. Tony reached an instinctive hand towards him, but Peter just clutched his legs to his chest and forced air in and out of his lungs. Breathe, breathe,  _ breathe _ -

“He’s reading Peter’s body language,” Steve spoke up from the doorway, and Peter had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the tears from falling. Steve’s voice suddenly got quiet. “Tony, that rules out you and I. And Sam,” he added, as if in afterthought.

Peter’s eyes reopened and focused warily on the group around him.

_ Why were they doing what he wanted? False sense of security? _

“Me, Peter?” Rhodes spoke up quietly as he searched Peter’s face - for what, Peter wasn’t sure. But he  _ did  _ know that… he wasn’t  _ scared _ . He was able to meet Rhodes’ eyes.

But why Rhodes, and no one else?

Well, he knew why. Because everyone else would  _ hurt  _ him.

At least Rhodes wouldn’t do it as harshly. (Or not at all, it seemed as of now. But Peter knew people could change.)

“Okay,” Rhodes murmured, as if to himself - then, “And what about Natasha?”

Again, Peter was able to meet her eyes without hesitation. And Natasha, on the other hand, looked warry, and worried, but at the same time careful and calculating. Peter momentarily wondered how she was able to show so many emotions at once, but then he realized it didn’t matter, because not one of those emotions showed  _ danger _ .

“And, Bucky?”

Peter looked at Rhodes in confusion.  _ Bucky?  _ Oh, that must be the new man at the door.

_ But why did that name strike fear in him? _

Peter made eye contact with the man in the doorway, feeling some sense of… what, unpredictability? Though, he couldn’t pin it, instead placing the blame on Steve, who stood right beside him.

Rhodes cleared his throat quietly, bringing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Alright then. Sam, Steve, Tony, out. Bucky, Nat, and I will stay.”

Two expressions stuck out to Peter the most - Steve’s sad, but unsurprised, eyes, and Tony’s befuddled, gaping mouth. Sam, on the other hand, stood up, simply looking mildly confused, and quickly moved to the door. (He wanted Peter to feel as comfortable as possible, even if he had no idea why  _ he  _ was holding that feeling back.) Rhodes just shrugged and opened his mouth before closing it again.

“I’m sorry, but you saw him, he’s scared.”

“I’m his  _ dad _ . That’s his  _ pops _ .” He threw an arm up to gesture at Steve, but the whimper behind him made it falter and fall. Tony whipped his head around wildly, eyebrows furrowed, to stare at Peter, tears falling steadily down his face, and, with a sinking heart, Tony realized how loud his voice had unintentionally gotten.

How he had  _ scared  _ his son.

“Okay,” he stuttered quietly, seeming to stumble as he pulled himself up to his feet. Steve lay a supporting hand on his elbow and guided him out the door after Sam, taking one last look at his son, who now had his face buried in his knees, pulled up to his chest.

They walked through the doorway, that broken image being the last they saw of their son before the wall blocked their view.

Tony shrugged Steve’s hand off his shoulder as they followed Sam into the kitchen, all three pulling out chairs and taking seats at the table.

Sam leaned back and started picking at a scratch in the wood, Steve leaned forwards with his arms crossed, and Tony couldn’t decide on a position - he kept fidgeting until, finally, he stood up (shortly after sitting) and started pacing the kitchen.

“In what world,” he started quietly, controlled, as if in thought, “does our son trust a spy-slash-assassin, a brainwashed assassin with a  _ metal arm _ , and - okay, well, Rhodey, I understand. But why does he trust  _ them  _ more than us?”

Steve continued to stare at the table as Sam watched Tony. He wanted to know the answer too, especially for himself, and why the kid was scared of  _ him _ .

“What happened this morning?” he asked quietly, but Tony barely spared him a look before stopping his pacing to place his hands on the counter and lean on top of them, frustrated. Steve answered instead and told him the whole story, stopping at Peter’s breakdown, getting quieter at the parts in which the actual words were spoken.

Sam lifted his eyebrows and whistled faintly when he finished, shaking his head slowly.

“Man, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it  _ does  _ fucking suck, bird-man.”

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed at the same time Steve scolded, “Tony!” and the smaller man threw his arms up in frustration, one coming to rest on his forehead as the other resettled on the counter. He exhaled slowly.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m just stressed out.” The sarcasm in his voice was clear, and Steve tilted his head disapprovingly.

“I am too, Tony. We all are,” Sam spoke strongly, as if unaffected by Tony’s sudden outburst. (If he was being honest, Sam expected nothing less.) “But we’re also all on the same team. We all just want to help Peter, and if those three are the ones to do it now, then who are we to stop them?”

Tony looked up at Sam, visibly shaken, forcing Sam to hesitate. He was - wow, he was  _ really  _ shaken up. His shield, his barriers, were down. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw Tony looking so…  _ broken. _

“You don’t understand, Wilson, this is  _ my kid _ . The one I-” Steve looked up suddenly, and Tony swallowed thickly. “The one  _ we  _ raised. And after two months we finally got him back, just for him to  _ not trust us _ ? Do you know how much that  _ hurts _ ?”

Tony rested his head in his hands, elbows propped up against the counter, and Sam looked on sadly. He knew Tony wasn’t finished. He was just giving him a moment to calm down.

“Do you know how it feels,” he whispered harshly, tortured eyes rising to meet Sam’s, “to have your only child  _ terrified  _ of you?” He spit the word through his teeth, and Sam, though he had never known the feeling, could almost understand it.

He wasn’t particularly close to Tony - the two had never gotten many chances to interact. But the Tony Stark he had seen on t.v., the one his teammates had told him about - this wasn’t him. This wasn’t the cold billionaire that hadn’t a care in the world; this was the man that had cared too much, and that had become his downfall.

The trio was quiet, all lost in their thoughts - until suddenly, Sam got a thought that he felt needed to be shared.

“Hey, do you guys know what, uh, what they did to him?”

Steve looked up suddenly, fixing Sam with a questioning look.

“What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged, debating how to best word this.

“Do you know how they…  _ hurt  _ him?” he finally decided on. “Maybe if we knew, we could help heal him better, faster.”

Steve and Tony shared a look. It had been a question nagging at the back of their minds - they just never had the time to process it. Making sure Peter felt safe and protected had been given greater priority (so it was ironic that they had failed even at that).

Finally, Steve answered by shaking his head.

“Well, we couldn’t really ask Peter,” he answered, deep in thought. “Is there any other way of finding out?”

Tony was wringing his hands at the counter, staring somewhere between the two at the table. “We could always find those sons of bitches that did this to my kid and beat it out of ‘em.”

Sam watched Tony with careful eyes, debating whether to agree with him or be worried. There was  _ genuine  _ fire sported in those usually tame eyes of his.

“ _ Or _ ,” Sam rebutted carefully, drawing Tony’s  _ almost  _ focused eyes to him, “we could call on some friends. We know a  _ few  _ people that could help.”

Tony looked back at him, confused, and Sam met Steve’s eyes. He wanted to sigh at Tony’s ignorance.

“Maybe Cho, or Bruce, or... Wanda?”

“ _ Absolutely not! _ ” Tony hurried to spit through gritted teeth. “I’m not letting that  _ witch  _ anywhere near my kid.”

“Tony, he may have a point,” Steve responded with a shrug. “What if she could get inside his head? Tell us what’s going on in there?”

Tony just shook his head.

“You want  _ her  _ inside his head?”

“I trust her, Tony.”

“ _ I  _ don’t!”

Steve stared at Tony incredulously. Why did he have to be  _ so damn stubborn _ ?

“It’s what’s best for Peter.”

Tony froze, an indecisive fire burning between his eyes. Sam watched the two, biting his cheek as he waited to see who would win. Finally, Tony caved - but he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

He sighed as he let his hands fall off the counter, shaking his head slightly.

“ _ You  _ have to be the one to ask her,” he conceded, and Steve nodded his head earnestly. “One wrong move and she’s out. No second chances.”

Steve shook his head, like his saying it was unnecessary. “Tony, she won’t do anything, I promise.”

Tony stared at him just a second longer, before sighing and nodding slightly.

“Fine. Call her.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Rhodey, and Bucky have a conversation with Peter, and remind him of who he used to be. Wanda takes her first step toward helping Peter.

Peter sat hunched against the wall, unmoving. Though, it wasn’t out of fear - he knew these people wouldn’t hurt him - it was more out of...  _ uncertainty _ ?

Then again, he also “knew”  _ Steve  _ wouldn’t hurt him, and Tony….

But these people  _ really  _ wouldn’t hurt him.

Well….

There was a battle raging in Peter’s mind that he didn’t know how to settle. The three people watched him hesitantly, two of them essentially strangers - Natasha being the only one he felt comfortable with because he  _ knew _ . The others, he felt comfortable with because he  _ didn’t _ .

Slowly, the three older people began to move, to adjust themselves to better fill the space. Natasha moved closer to the edge of the couch, Rhodey adjusting himself to mirror her. Bucky (the name still tickled Peter’s memory) moved to sit on the armchair on the other side of the room (albeit moving weirdly - was that a limp?), none taking their eyes off Peter. It sent an uncomfortable chill down Peter’s spine, and he figured it was just because he wasn’t used to that much attention.

_ No, you  _ are  _ used to it _ , a voice in his head rebutted.  _ You’re just also used to knowing what comes after. _

A nasty shiver ran down Peter’s spine, one that he couldn’t contain - but after it passed he just felt  _ numb _ . Not fearing punishment after the movement like he would’ve guessed, but like something was  _ missing _ .

_ It  _ is  _ the punishment _ , the voice returned, and Peter relished in hearing it. The voice knew what was really going on. The voice was honest with him; the voice was his  _ friend _ .  _ You’re expecting the punishment. The punishment always comes after the movement. Rule Eight. _

Peter nodded internally. Yes, that was it. It was the lack of punishment. He wished he would be punished again. Then this feeling of feeling  _ incomplete  _ would go away.

Peter hadn’t realized he had been staring into space until someone cleared their throat.

“Are you alright, Peter?” Rhodes spoke up, and Peter met his eyes easily, unthinking. It surprised him how with the other group, with Tony and Steve and Sam, he felt small, and under their control - but with these three, he just felt… _ numb _ .

There was that word again. Peter had no idea what it meant, to feel such a sudden lack of emotion after they had been dialed up to 11, but he figured he liked it more than being forced to obey and flinching at every movement. He figured that if he lived like this for the rest of his life, quietly waiting, watching, observing, this would be fine. Yes, he liked this.

He gave a simple nod once, but didn’t break eye contact. No, he was too intrigued in what he saw in Rhodes’ eyes. They looked…  _ concerned _ ?

Peter couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked  _ concerned  _ for him, and it confused him. Why were they concerned for him? Whatever the reason was, Peter decided he liked this expression. He decided he liked Rhodes.

Peter turned his gaze to Natasha, to see if her own eyes mirrored the expression - and they did, but hers had a bit off confusion sprinkled in, and…  _ protectiveness _ . Yes, that was the word. It looked like the ones the bad guys had when looking at him, but different. The bad guys looked at him with - not  _ protectiveness _ , but….

_ Possessiveness _ . That was it. They looked at him as if he was something to be owned. At the time, Peter didn’t really notice it, but now, compared to Natasha, he didn’t like it. He  _ did _ , however, like people being  _ protective  _ over him. He liked Natasha.

Then, his eyes turned to Bucky.

Bucky was large, Peter noticed suddenly. Large, kind of like Steve - but his face didn’t look  _ strong  _ or  _ harmful  _ like Steve’s, especially not when he looked at Peter. It looked more…  _ sad _ . Scared. Why was  _ he  _ scared? He had one arm relaxed on his thigh, the other hidden behind his back for a reason Peter couldn’t discern.

“Peter, do you remember Bucky?” Natasha asked quietly, trying to gauge whether or not Peter was scared of Bucky. It didn’t seem like he remembered the metal arm, but she couldn’t be sure.

Peter shook his head slowly before turning his attention back to his lap. Natasha watched him, lips pursed in a thin line, debating. She made eye contact first with Rhodes over Peter’s head, who looked hesitant; then with Bucky, looking scared. They came to a silent agreement - no one would bring up the metal arm. Not until Peter was settled, anyways.

Then came a different issue - what were they to do now? Each of the three knew the only reason Peter felt safe with them was because he hadn’t spent enough time with them to be considered a threat - well, besides Natasha, which was the basis for her deciding to be the first to attempt conversation.

“How have you been feeling, Peter?” she asked quietly, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as the group awaited his answer. Would he be honest, or lie? Would he even answer at all?

Peter gave a small shrug, barely lifting his shoulders and letting them fall again so it could only be seen if Natasha was paying very close attention - which she was.

“Fine.”

Natasha breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Sure,  _ Fine  _ wasn’t a real answer, and it wasn’t necessarily positive - but it was an answer nonetheless. And that was a good sign, as anyone in the room would agree.

Suddenly, an idea made itself known in Natasha’s mind.

“Peter, have you eaten breakfast yet?” A look at the clock told her it was 11 a.m., and judging by the tiny amount Peter ate for dinner last night, he must be  _ starving _ .

Peter shook his head slowly and Natasha made eye contact with Rhodes over his head, the message being clear -  _ I’m bringing Peter to the kitchen. Make sure the other three aren’t there _ .

Rhodes left with haste, wanting to finish his task as soon as possible. The sooner the three were out of the way, the sooner Peter could eat, which everyone knew the kid  _ desperately  _ needed.

He rose from the couch and quickly headed out the door, walking the short distance to the kitchen. Tony was standing at the counter, and Sam was sitting at the table. They looked up immediately when they heard him arrive, but Steve was nowhere to be seen.

“Is everything alright?” Tony asked before Rhodes could get a word out. “Is Peter okay?”

Rhodes held up a quick hand to quiet him, accompanied by a reassuring smile.

“Peter’s fine. Better than, actually. We’re getting small responses from him. Words, nods, that kind of stuff.”

Tony instantly relaxed at those words, and Rhodes finally saw the toll the last few days had taken on him. The bags under his eyes couldn’t be replicated by any amount of makeup. His hair was essentially one large, greasy knot, seemingly slicked back by the amount of times the man had nervously ran his hands through. His shoulders were hunched forward at a position that couldn’t have been comfortable, but judging by how long Tony had been in said position, Rhodes figured it was essentially his default stance by now.

He quickly made his way over to his friend and placed two arms on his shoulders, simultaneously showing a sign of support and gently repositioning his frame. Sam watched silently, eyes understanding, but not pitiful - just observant.

“We were actually going to bring him to the kitchen to eat something,” Rhodes continued, gently pulling Tony’s shoulders back and bringing him into a semi-upright position. He tried to ignore the crack that emitted from his friend’s lower back.  _ When was the last time he stood up straight? _

Tony nodded but refused to move, and Rhodes realised he was going to have to spell it out for him.

“Tones, you can’t be here when he comes in.”

Tony’s head snapped up at a speed that must’ve caused whiplash, but the fierce  _ hurt  _ and betrayal in his eyes showed no sign of pain. Rhodes hurried to step in front of him, arms raised and palms out as if in surrender.

“We don’t want him to be shocked, Tony, that’s all,” he explained gently. “Right now we just need to get him to eat, and then we’ll work on reintroducing you and Steve while he still trusts us.”

Tony’s eyes softened. He understood. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood. He nodded quietly, eyes refocusing on the ground.

“Look, why don’t you go get yourself cleaned up? Take a shower, maybe take a nap if you want.” Tony looked hesitant. Rhodes thought he understood why. “Peter’s safe,” he assured his friend gently. “He’s being defended by two assassins and a Lieutenant Colonel. We won’t let anything happen to him, I swear.”

Tony nodded again, shutting his eyes momentarily and sighing deeply. Rhodes took the opportunity to shoot Sam a quick look.

_ Take care of him. _

Sam nodded, rising from the table, and Rhodes let himself relax, if just a bit.

Though Sam and Tony weren’t the most dynamic duo of the group, he knew he could trust Sam to watch his best friend.

Tony shot Rhodes a final glance, something between a plea for help and and a grateful acceptance, before letting Sam rest a hand on his shoulder and start to turn him away. Rhodes noticed the way his shoulders tensed at the sudden contact, but he quickly relaxed and seemed to sink under the touch.

Yeah, Sam would take care of him.

The two left the room just as Natasha walked in, leading Peter, Bucky bringing up the rear. Rhodes gave Peter a small smile, happy to see his head wasn’t bowed as low as it had been before.

Natasha took a seat at the table, Bucky waiting against the door. Peter seemed to hover awkwardly.

“You wanna take a seat, bud?” Rhodes spoke softly, leaning casually against the counter. Peter hesitantly moved to take a seat at the edge of the seat closest to him, and startled fumbling with his hands in his lap. His head was held dutifully down and Rhodes noticed his leg bouncing under the table.

Moving his eyes to Natasha, he saw she noticed the nervous movement as well. Natasha just shook her head slightly, eyebrows furrowed. She had no idea why he was nervous, either.

Suddenly, Peter’s eyes fluttered to Bucky at the door, and Rhodes at the counter, and it immediately clicked.

He felt trapped.

“Bucky,” Rhodes called quietly. Peter jumped at the name, but kept his head down. Rhodes shot him a worried glance before continuing. He made eye contact with the man at the door and tilted his head toward the table.

_Sit down_ , he mouthed, but Bucky looked… nervous?

_ I’ll scare him. _

Rhodes shook his head.  _ You’re hovering. _

With a quick glance at the kid, Bucky slowly crossed the room to the seat opposite Peter at the table, and the kid’s leg stopped trembling. He didn’t lift his head, though.

Bucky leaned back in his seat, but not because he was relaxed - no, it was the opposite. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Peter as possible. He had been hiding his arm the entire time and now was no different - he had angled his body in a way that it was hidden behind the backrest of the chair. His eyes varied between staring awkwardly at the table or nervously at Peter, but his gaze was never returned.

“You hungry, Pete?”

Peter shrugged, though Rhodes knew he must’ve been. How long had it been since he last ate?

“I think I’m going to make a sandwich. Nat?” Natasha looked up at him with a small, knowing smile on her face.

“I’d love a sandwich.”

Rhodes smiled back before turning to the other man. “Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t seem to get it.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

Rhodes shot him a warning look at the same time Natasha kicked him under the table. He cleared his throat thickly.

“Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, a sandwich sounds great.”

Rhodes raised his eyebrows as if to say,  _ Seriously?  _ and Bucky looked down, his face flushed.

“And you, Peter?”

Peter raised his eyes so they were peeking out from under his hair.

“Okay,” he said quietly, and Rhodes nodded, smiling, before starting to rummage through Tony’s fridge.

Peter watched the man move for a moment, making sure he didn’t do anything to the food. There had been one specific incident with his captors-

No. No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He was safe. Rhodes was  _ good _ . Peter remembered the dinner. They hadn’t poisoned him then - why would they now?

Plus, Steve wasn’t here. That made Peter feel a  _ lot  _ safer.

Natasha cleared her throat, and Peter’s eyes turned in her direction. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Rhodes, but he also didn’t want to disrespect her.

_ What are you doing? You just agreed that Rhodes wouldn’t poison the food _ , a voice in Peter’s head tried to ration, and Peter’s head felt like it was splitting apart.

Peter didn’t know what to think. At first, he thought everyone was a risk. Then, he slowly started to warm up to them, until Steve - until Steve did  _ that _ . Now, he was only sure of two things: people are unpredictable, and you never know who to trust.

“So, Bucky,” Natasha started to speak offhandedly. “You said you were taking up running, how’s that going?”

Bucky looked up, surprised, to see Natasha staring at him with eyes that read,  _ Play along. _

“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his chair slightly. “Yeah, it’s going well. I can comfortably run 60 miles an hour now, so that’s something.”

Rhodes froze from where he was about to start spreading mayonnaise on pieces of bread sitting out on the counter and Natasha stared at him, eyes wide, as if to say,  _ Are you kidding me? _

Bucky cleared his throat again uncomfortably. Sometimes he forgot he was, uh,  _ enhanced _ .

After a moment of silence, Rhodes just sighed and resumed making the sandwiches. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Peter, you like to run, too, right?”

Peter’s head jostled up at  the sound of his name and his eyes looked clouded over with…  _ confusion _ , Bucky thought.

“I, uh, I think so.”

This worried Bucky. He wasn’t especially close with Tony, but even he knew Peter enjoyed track by how often the man talked about it. Peter hadn’t joined any school teams, but he loved going for jogs through the park. Bucky wondered how he could just…  _ forget _ .

Well, in reality, Bucky knew more than most.

Suddenly, realization dawned on him.

_ Bucky knew more than most. _

Bucky  _ understood  _ this whole memory-loss thing.

If there was anyone that could help Peter, it would be him.

“You remember, Peter, right?” Bucky spoke quietly from his spot at the table, and Rhodes raised an eyebrow from where he was slicing the sandwiches and prepping them on plates. Natasha just smirked, like she knew this was coming. Peter, on the other hand, still looked uneasy. Not scared, though, just confused. Bucky could work with confused.

Hell, he  _ was  _ confused.

“Tony told me. You would run around Central Park, and - oh, we actually ran  _ together  _ that one time, remember?” A ghost of a smile flickered across Bucky’s face at the memory. It wasn’t a  _ real  _ smile - he hadn’t done that in ages - but it hinted at one. Peter, too, was starting to regain a tiny amount of recognition.

“Yeah, but we stopped at the pretzel stand first, and-” Bucky shook his head as he chuckled at the memory. “Boy, that wasn’t a good idea. Had to call Steve to come get us, but he was still just learning how to drive-”

Suddenly, a laugh broke through Bucky’s lips - a  _ laugh _ . It sounded so strange, and different, but so natural at the same time. And, gosh, it felt so darn  _ good _ .

Especially when Peter joined in, too.

The sound surprised them all, the group of three hovering around the boy - the boy who had just  _ laughed _ . It was short, and quiet, but definitely there - his shoulders shaking, just slightly, his eyes squinted, the sound seeming to fill the room with more light, and more colour, than it had ever held before.

Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes wide, an incredulous smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Rhodes was sporting his own toothy grin from the counter, finally finishing the sandwiches and moving to join the group at the table, setting a plate down in front of each of the three before joining them. They all sat, watching the now-smiling boy, his mind filled with joyful memories that the trio were sure they could add on to.

_ Yeah _ , Bucky thought, smiling.  _ I can work with confused _ .

◊ ◊ ◊

Tony sat on his bed, letting his head rest back on the headrest, staring at the ceiling. Water from his freshly-showered hair dripped down his forehead like dew drops on a leaf, but he didn’t care enough to wipe them away.

Shadows danced across his ceiling, though it was midday, the man’s tired eyes casting black dots that formed the worst images his mind could conjure: Peter shaking when he saw Tony. Wanting to get away. Wanting to be with anyone  _ but  _ him. Then, with a jolt, Tony realized these things were  _ already  _ happening.

His nightmares were coming to life.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, watching him quietly, and, geez, Tony wished he would just  _ say  _ something. This whole pity look really wasn’t working for him. He wanted to shout,  _ Spit it out, Wilson _ , but as much as he’d like to, he couldn’t find the strength to right now. He was just so  _ exhausted _ .

“Y’alright, Tony?” Sam said quietly, and Tony felt like rolling his eyes. He shifted them over to Sam and fixed him with a stare that he hoped said,  _ Of course I’m not fucking alright. _

Out loud he responded, “Yeah.”

Sam cocked his head slightly, and - gosh, there was that  _ pity  _ look again.

“Tony-”

“I don’t need your pity.”

Sam looked taken aback by the words, his eyebrows furrowing as his face flushed a faint pink. He opened his mouth, debating what to say, before closing it, and opening it once more.

“I don’t pity you, Tony.”

Tony scoffed and rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. His least favourite scene was playing: coming down the stairs to find Peter sobbing in Steve’s arms and realizing he was the one that had caused it.

“None of us pity you. We’re just trying to help.”

Tony chuckled humourlessly as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you help me find him sooner, then?” His voice dripped with venom as he lifted his head once more to fix Sam with a cold stare. “Why didn’t you help me find him  _ before  _ two months were up?  _ Before  _ they did this to him? Before they put this  _ shit  _ in his head?”

The man was shouting now as he lifted himself to his feet, towering over Sam, who just stared back, eyes showing small traces of hurt, but otherwise unaffected.

“You know we did our best to help-”

“You didn’t do jack shit.”

Tony’s fists clenched at his sides as his shoulders rose and fell, fuming with anger. Heat crept its way up his neck and his entire body shook with the sudden emotion.

“I looked for him,” he whispered, fighting to control his volume, “every. Single.  _ Fucking.  _ Day. I never stopped, even when  _ you _ -” Tony gritted his teeth and pointed an accusatory finger at Sam, who just looked sad. “When you said we should give up. When you started talking about fucking  _ funeral plans _ .”

“Tony, that wasn’t-”

“You were ready to  _ bury  _ him, Wilson! You didn’t care whether he-”

“Enough!” Sam rose to meet Tony, jaw set in a firm line, eyes intense. “Sit down, Tony.” He spoke sternly, and Tony, exhausted, collapsed back onto his bed, eyes momentarily fluttering shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We all love Peter,” Sam said softly, letting himself rest back on the mattress. “We all did everything we could for him. You  _ saw  _ that. All the sleepless nights, and standing in front of screens for hours - we did all we could. But -  _ two months _ , Tony, that’s a long time, and, damnit, we were just thinking ahead. I mean, what if we hadn’t found him? Would you have kept looking, forever-”

“Yes.”

“ _ No _ , Tony, no. That’s my point.” Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I wanted to give him a proper - proper  _ send off _ , in case he - in case we didn’t find him.” Sam paused, letting them both mill over that very real possibility. The possibility of the group  _ never  _ finding him, or, even worse, finding him too late, and him being….

“Look, I know you love Peter. We all do, too. So you have to believe me when I say we all worked our absolute hardest to find him, and, look - it all paid off! Peter is safe now. We brought him home.”

As if on cue, an echo arose from downstairs. A laugh -  _ Peter’s  _ laugh. Peter was  _ laughing _ .

Tony’s head shot up, eyes wide, to meet Sam’s. “Peter?”

A smile broke out on Sam’s face as the sound faded away. “I think so.”

Suddenly, the sound was replaced by commotion. A sliding of chairs. A  _ bang  _ on the floor. An onslaught of concerned voices, words, and phrases.

Tony bolted from the room, ignoring Sam’s panicked calls after him, telling him to  _ Wait, you can’t go see him!  _ Tony didn’t listen. Peter was in trouble. Peter was probably  _ hurt _ .

Tony raced down the stairs, the voices getting louder with each step.  _ They’re in the kitchen. _

He stopped suddenly in the doorway, his paternal instincts making the rather simple scene look like a battlefield.

The chair in which Tony assumed Peter was sitting in a second ago was toppled over on its side, Peter pressed against the wall behind it in a ball. Natasha and Rhodes were attempting to get closer to him to see if he was okay, but he was shaking and backing away so violently they couldn’t get close.

Peter’s knuckles were white around his knees, his wide eyes staring somewhere across the kitchen.  _ Bucky _ ? Tony thought, confused, when he saw the man in Peter’s eyesight.

But, no, he realized. Not Bucky. The man behind him.

_ Steve _ .

What the hell was Steve doing back here?

Tony stormed across the room, roughly grabbing Steve by the shoulder.

“What did you do?” he yelled, the whimpers behind him only getting louder.  _ Crap _ .

Steve’s mouth was agape, eyes wide and confused. “I - I just walked in. I didn’t know he was here, I’m  _ sorry _ -”

“Maybe I can help.”

Tony’s head whipped around at the new voice that entered the room, as everyone went deadly quiet.

Taking a tentative step into the room was Wanda Maximoff, fiddling with the sleeves of her gray cardigan hanging open over a white shirt and black jeans. Her hair fell over her shoulders in loose waves, and she looked so  _ casual  _ in the setting Tony wanted to hit her.

Well, he wanted to hit her fot a lot of other reasons, too.

Tony stormed over to Wanda and stood over her, eyes squinted and chest heaving. Fists held tightly at his side.

“What - the  _ hell  _ \- are you doing here?” he forced through gritted teeth, but she just stared back, unaffected.

“I called her, Tony,” Steve reminded the man from behind him. Tony thought he heard movement at the sound of Steve’s voice, and tried to ignore the fact that it might’ve came from Peter.

Because Peter was scared of his Pops.

“I don’t care. She’s not getting anywhere  _ near  _ my kid.”

Wanda squinted her eyes and tilted her head.

“I can help him.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Stop it, you two.” Steve had moved to stand between the two, placing a hand on Tony’s chest, holding him back. They continued to glare at each other. “Wanda, how would you be able to help him?”

Wanda finally pulled her gaze away from Tony to look at Steve.

“I could put him to sleep-”

“ _ Absolutely not! _ ”

“- _ I could put him to sleep _ and read his mind. See what’s bothering him.”

Steve looked to be considering it, but Tony just scoffed.

“He’s fine, look!” He held up a hand to gesture towards Peter, and tried to ignore the fact that he  _ heard  _ him flinch, through the sound of Peter’s head against the wall and his sudden gasps. Wanda raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t  _ look  _ fine.”

“Natasha can talk to him.”

“He won’t let me get close,” Natasha answered, and Tony growled in frustration.

“Tony, let her-” But Tony wasn’t listening to Steve. Because Wanda had taken a step forwards.

Tony stepped into her path and held his hand out, letting his Iron Man gauntlet form around his wrist. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed.

Natasha and Rhodes stood to step in front of and defend Peter, and Tony scoffed when he noticed this.  _ I’m not going after  _ him, he thought, and he was too riled up to be offended at the action.

Steve stepped completely in between the two, facing Tony, his arms on his shoulders, holding him back. At the same time, Wanda’s hands began to glow a red tint.

With their backs to him, no one noticed Peter shaking like a leaf, eyes practically bulging out of his head, tucking himself so tightly against the wall he had almost disappeared.

“Out of my way, Steve,” Tony said, deathly calm, but Steve just shook his head.

“Don’t do this, Tony. Wanda can help him. That’s all that matters.”

“She’s not going anywhere  _ near  _ my son.”

“ _ Our  _ son, Tony. And it’s what’s best for Peter. She’s doing it, whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll fight.”

Steve’s eyes saddened, but his back straightened, and he tensed, ready in an attack position.

“Trust me. We’ll all be better for this,” he said quietly, followed by, “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly he sprung into action. Steve grabbed Tony’s hands and forced them, palms down, against his chest, then tugged the man himself into Steve’s larger, stronger frame. The man grunted and struggled, but he couldn’t get free.

“Wanda, now,” he called, and Wanda nodded once before proceeding towards Peter.

Natasha and Rhodes quickly sidestepped out of her way. Steve fought against his partner and just held him tighter against his chest. It was no feat like this - Steve was much stronger, and with Tony’s gauntlet held against his chest, he couldn’t shoot with it. As soon as Tony called his suit to him, though, everything would be screwed. He mentally urged Wanda to go faster.

The Scarlet Witch kneeled in front of a violently shaking Peter who watched her with wide, terrified eyes. She gave what looked like a comforting smile (though it couldn’t have given the effect she wanted, with her hands glowing red) before moving her hands to either side of Peter’s head, whose trembling only grew more violent.

“No - No, I promise I’ll be good, please, I  _ promise _ -”

Steve shut his eyes as the sound of his son’s pleas filled his ears. They were clearly affecting Tony, too, by his increased struggles. Steve held him fast.  _ Hurry, Wanda, please…. _

“I’ll be good, I promise-” Peter’s voice grew fainter, and Steve opened his eyes, which were now brimmed with tears. Peter whispered a final, “ _ I’m sorry _ ,” before his eyes fluttered shut, the boy himself slumping over and sliding backwards against the wall.

Wanda collapsed back on her heels as Steve opened his arms and let Tony fall out. He stared first at Steve, his eyes filled with nothing other than betrayal. Then, he turned sharply to Wanda and raised his gauntlet again.

“I already did it,” Wanda spoke calmly, her back to Tony. “You can still try to hurt me - though I  _ really  _ don’t recommend it - but he’ll still be asleep.”

Tony snarled and kept his gauntlet up, but didn’t shoot. He knew she was right.

Wanda stood and turned to face them, brushing off her cardigan.

“He should be asleep for a few hours. I’m going for a walk. By the time I come back, if Stark here is no longer out for my head, then I’ll read his mind and see what’s bothering him.”

Without another word, she turned sharply and walked out of the room.

Tony let her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda reads Peter's memories. Steve exhibits strange behaviour.

Tony paced the kitchen, fuming, his whole body seeming to shake with anger. Steve stood stiffly, arms crossed, following Tony’s movement with his eyes. Bucky, Rhodes, Natasha, and Sam (who had followed not long after Tony and was now standing in the shadows of the doorway) watched him warily, Natasha with an arm slightly out in front of Peter. Tony took notice of this arm as he paced and shot her a disbelieving look, but she just stared back, unmoving.

 _You think I’m going to hurt Peter? I’m doing this_ for _him, but no one’s agreeing with me_ , he wanted to yell, but he forced himself to swallow his words, almost choking on them in his efforts.

Peter remained hunched against the wall, his head tilted towards his chest, and Tony stepped forwards on instinct to right it, but immediately Natasha blocked him from Tony’s view with her body and Steve rested a hand on his chest.

Tony stared up at Steve, recognizing the difference in their heights but doubting it made him look weak. He knew the expression that showed on his face. He could _feel_ the anger and betrayal radiating off him. Everyone in that room understood that it didn’t matter how tall or short he was. Right now, he was _mad_. He was livid, and everyone else would be smart to get out of his way.

But, of course, no one was smart when it came to protecting Peter.

“How… _dare_ you,” he spat through gritted teeth, staring Steve dead in the eye, before moving his attention towards every single other face in the room. Everyone was showing at least _some_ expression, ranging from Natasha’s sadness to Bucky’s despair, except for Steve. He stood strong, a hand fixed on Tony’s chest, and - gosh, Tony wanted to punch that stupid, fixed expression off his face.

“Tony, Wanda said it herself. She can help him.”

“She can help him?” Tony repeated, laughing humorlessly. The echo sounded so out of place in the tense room, the others all shared worried glances - but Tony and Steve only had eyes for each other. “She has been inside my head,” Tony spat. “She _manipulated_ me. Showed me things I never want to see again in my life, and you just let her waltz in here and give her a free path to my son’s mind?”

“Ton-”

“And don’t correct me and say that he’s _our_ son, because right now, Rogers, I seem to be the only one _doing_ anything for him!” Tony was yelling now, knowing whatever spell Wanda put on Peter would keep him knocked out. Anger coursed through his veins, causing him to shake as his wide eyes stared down every single person in that room - which was ironic, because he didn’t seem to realize the way Steve deflated at those words.

Steve let his arm fall from Tony’s chest and dangle at his side, his eyes softening and downcast. He spoke his next words softly, though they packed a punch.

“We’re back to Rogers now?”

Tony looked up at him with large eyes. For a 200 pound, 6-foot-tall man, you could assume he was a child who had just lost a puppy, with the look on his face.

Tony’s mouth fell open as he searched for the words to say, but none of them seemed to fit.

He hadn’t called him _Rogers_ since they had adopted Peter. It had taken a long time for Tony to feel safe enough with Steve to get as intimate as first-name basis, and he hadn’t _meant_ to call him Rogers - it had just slipped out.

It seemed like no one was on his side. His point of view made sense, right? There had to be another way to get Peter better without that _witch_ in his head, but everyone else made it seem like this was the only way to save him.

Steve was still staring at him with sad eyes, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry,” Tony muttered. He had grown used to saying those words over the last couple of days. “It’s just… Steve, she was inside my head, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, she was in mine, too, Tones-”

“No-” Tony held up a hand. “Forgive me, but no, you don’t.”

Tony took a deep breath. He hadn’t told anyone this before. It had always seemed too personal, something he wasn’t ready to share, to open himself up to - but now it seemed like he had no other choice.

“She showed me you, Steve.” The man looked down at him, confused. “She showed me all of you, and-” Tony ran a hand down his face. “She showed me New York. And we - we had _lost_ , and you all… were-”

“Dead,” Steve finished for him softly. Tony nodded, head down, too upset to continue. Steve sighed as he placed a gentle arm around Tony’s shoulders and held him tight.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve murmured as he ran a hand along Tony’s arm. His voice was gentle enough, but Tony sensed a second part to that statement.

“But, listen, Wanda’s _changed_.”

Tony stiffened at those words and shrugged Steve’s hand off his arm. This was what happened when you opened up, put yourself out there, advertised your feelings - you _felt_.

And then someone pulled the rug out from under you.

“I don’t care,” Tony growled. “I don’t care what she said, or what she’s been doing. All I know is what she did, and that was some pretty fucked up shit, Steve.”

“Language.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“How do we even know she did what she said she was going to?” Tony elaborated, taking a step towards Peter. “How do we know he’s - Natasha, move your arm.”

Natasha had her hand lifted between Tony and Peter, stopping one from reaching the other. Her eyes were blazing with protectiveness as she stared up at Tony, who just looked annoyed.

“Natasha - for fuck’s sake, what do you think I’m gonna do?”

Natasha tilted her head and squinted her eyes.

“You just pulled out your gauntlet and were ready to fight Wanda in this very room.”

Just that witch’s name made Tony’s blood boil, but he fought through it. He had to keep his cool. Yeah, he was pissed - but that was his _kid_.

“Natasha, please. Let me see my son.”

Something must’ve convinced her - the look in Tony’s eyes, the sound of his voice, the fact that he wasn’t wearing his gauntlet, _something_ \- because she slowly lowered her hand and stepped aside. Tony mentally shook his head at her idiotic antics, but he outwardly nodded his thanks. If that’s what it took for him to be with his kid, then yes, Tony Stark could play nice.

Tony stepped over to where Peter was slouched against the wall, first reaching out a hand to steady and straighten his head. (Though he wouldn’t admit this, he subtly used his fingers to check for a pulse on the boy’s neck. His heart almost stopped when he didn’t feel anything at first, but he soon found the pulse point and breathed a grateful sigh of relief.)

He could feel the eyes of the others on his back, but he tried to ignore them as he stared down at Peter.

 _I’m only allowed to be this close because he’s asleep_ , Tony realized sadly as he cupped his son’s cheek with his hand. _How long will it take me to convince him I’m safe while he’s conscious?_

Tony let out a startled breath when a presence made itself known at his side. Steve, lowering himself down to kneel beside his partner.

Sure, Tony didn’t 100% forgive Steve. He really wasn’t happy with how Steve had _betrayed_ him like that.

But right now, all that mattered was Tony, Steve, and Peter.

Their own little family.

Steve’s fingers fumbled for Tony’s as they sat staring sadly at Peter, the others in the room watching anxiously.

A new presence at the door behind Tony made his back stiffen, but - no. Right now he was with Steve and Peter. Everything, every _one_ , else could wait.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

Of course she had to speak.

Tony shot up and stepped swiftly towards the door, ignoring a warning, “Tony,” from behind him, instead stopping in front of Wanda, staring down at her with blazing eyes.

“You lay a finger on him,” he spit quietly with barely controlled rage, “You step a _toe_ out of line, and you’ll be crawling out of here with blown-in kneecaps. Are we clear?”

His seething words seemed to have no effect on her as she continued smirking up at him, and - gosh, he wanted to smack that smug smile off her face. She was being threatened by _Iron Man_. What, wasn’t she scared of him? He hated having no effect on her. He hated feeling out of control.

And he hated losing his son.

“Calm down, Stark,” she said as she swiftly sidestepped him, barely sparing him a glance. He continued to stare straight ahead, hands clenched and gritted teeth, fighting to control his breathing. Oh, he wanted to _kill_ her. “I don’t have any reason to hurt him.”

Muscles so tight he felt they might snap, Tony slowly turned himself so he could see Wanda slowly lowering herself to kneel beside Peter on the ground. Steve was beside her, gripping Peter’s loose hand in his own, and Tony was glad he had someone on his side - well, as much on his side as the man could be in this situation.

Natasha, Sam, Rhodes, and Bucky had formed a rough semi circle around the group, standing silently but attentively, their demeanors ranging from Natasha’s clenched jaw and folded arms, to Bucky’s hunched shoulders and somber expression. Sam and Rhodes just looked sad, but stable, ready to show support whenever the need arose.

Wanda set to work.

She skillfully raised her hands to either side of Peter’s head, and Tony had to dig his fingers into his palms to keep himself from running over there and ripping her hands away from his kid. Steve seemed to have caught the movement and he quickly snapped his head up, eyes meeting Tony’s, sending a single message: _Wait_.

So Tony waited.

He waited as red, wispy tendrils threaded their way from Wanda’s fingers to Peter’s temples.

He waited as Peter’s skin began to glow a faint scarlet, and tried to blink back the thoughts of how he must’ve looked the same way when Wanda got into _his_ head.

He waited as Wanda’s eyes closed in concentration.

He waited as her face scruntched up in pain.

But when she collapsed back on her heels with a small exclamation, he couldn’t wait anymore.

“What? What is it?” he shouted, practically knocking her over in his haste to get to Peter. He fell to his knees between Wanda and Steve and in front of his kid, clutching his hands around Peter’s cheeks, which were slowly returning to their normal colour. The kid himself looked unaffected.

Wanda, however, was a different story.

She had her knees pulled to her chest and her head in her hands as she sat, her shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Tony removed his hands from Peter’s face to grip her shoulders tight and shake her, wild eyes searching for some form of recognition.

Her head lazily rolled up to meet Tony’s eyes, and - oh, gosh, why was she _crying_?

“What?” His voice cracked with sudden emotion. What had she seen? This woman, who had been so strong and bold and confident a moment ago, was now crushed under the sudden weight of a fifteen-year-old’s memories. Of a fifteen-year-old’s _experiences_.

 _What had she seen_ , Tony repeated mentally, _and what had Peter been forced to live through in the last two months?_

Wanda’s hands gripped Tony’s arms as, to his horror, tears began to stream down her face.

“Pain,” she gasped out, fingers tightening around Tony’s forearm as he stared at her in utter horror. His heartbeat had quickened and his whole body felt heavy as her wide eyes bore into his, her whole body trembling with the burden of what she had just seen.

“Wanda, please.” Tony could barely manage a whisper, but he _needed_ her to tell him. There was no doubt in his mind about he himself sharing the burden of Peter’s own mind. The only thing he could think of was that Peter had been dealing with this _all alone_.

But not anymore.

Suddenly, Natasha was at Wanda’s side, reaching a comforting hand for her shoulder - but Wanda flinched at the touch. If Tony hadn’t been gripping her shoulders, he suspected she would’ve fallen right to the floor.

“Wanda, it’s me,” Natasha said steadily, and Tony was in awe at her ability to maintain stability in a situation such as this. Wanda’s wide eyes stared back at her in fear.

“It’s me, Natasha.” Wanda’s eyes seemed to soften. “You’re at the compound.” Her grip relaxed ever slightly. “You’re here with Tony, Steve, Rhodes, Sam, and Bucky.” She swallowed thickly as her eyes began to wander. “You’re safe.

Wanda sighed deeply before ripping her arms out of Tony’s grip and running them through her hair, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. Within a moment they were open again, emotionless and hardened, and she pushed herself to her feet. Natasha pretended not to notice how she swayed slightly before steadying herself.

“Peter was tortured and abused in many ways,” she said, her voice suddenly strong and confident as if the event had never happened - but Natasha heard the quivers. Saw the way she swayed on her feet, the occasional flicker of pain in her eyes.

Natasha knew she was faking.

“They had hurt him physically, mentally, and emotionally with a plethora of weapons.”

Natasha saw a few backs stiffen in the surrounding group, and she was sure hers did the same. _Weapons_.

“Stop playing with me, witch,” Tony growled, eyes wild and uncontrolled. “What did they do to my kid?”

The nickname didn’t seem to bother Wanda in the slightest as she stared back at Tony, and, voice quivering, said the simplest sentence, the strongest words.

“What didn’t they do to him?”

Tony looked away, visibly wincing as he turned his back to the group, shoulders beginning to shake with the beginning of a cry. Natasha cleared her throat, knowing Tony would hate the attention he got if everyone started focusing on him now.

“I know it’s hard, Wanda, but please, try to tell us what you saw.”

Wanda sniffled, eyes searching the room before finally returning to Natasha’s.

“They used belts,” she began quietly. “Strapped him down to tables and, uh, performed-” Tony audibly stiffened, and Wanda casted him a quick glance before continuing, barely above a whisper. “Performed experiments-”

“That’s it,” Tony bursted suddenly, whipping his body around to stalk towards Wanda. “Out.” Wanda had a mix of surprise and amusement on her face as she watched the man approaching and slowly took a step back towards the door; not because she was retreating, but to make room for the quickly-advancing man.

“Tony.” Natasha moved to step in front of him, resting a gentle but firm hand on his chest, fixing him with a glare that overpowered the one he was trying to send her. “Look, if you can’t handle this, I understand. I’ll speak with Wanda in another room, but you can’t kick her out.”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating, before closing his eyes and giving a small nod.

“Fine.” He stepped back, rubbing a hand against the side of his face before waving it in Wanda’s genera; direction. “Continue.”

Wanda looked hesitant, but continued what she was saying.

“They wanted to know how his powers worked,” she continued, quieter this time. Either she had been affected by the memories she saw, or she was worried about upsetting Tony - or both.

“They used multiple… _tools_ to, um, test.” She closed her eyes momentarily, sighing deeply. “They used fire-”

A strangled noise ripped its way from Tony’s throat and he clenched his eyes shut, visibly shaking, but Wanda continued anyways. It seemed as though now she began, she couldn’t stop. She had to get this off her chest. Just seeing what Peter saw, feeling what he felt, for mere seconds was enough to have her collapsing on the ground, and Peter - Peter had to live through it for-

Wanda shook her head and tried again. “Fire, and glass, and knives, and electricity and - and water-”

A gasp echoed through the room, but it wasn’t from Tony. This time, it was from Rhodes, and Wanda stopped for a moment, looking up in surprise.

Rhodes met the eyes of the group quickly. He hadn’t meant to gasp; the connection of what happened to Peter and Tony, to father and son, made itself known in his mind, and he couldn’t keep it in. He remembered how it had affected Tony, how the man had told him about clutching the car battery to his chest as his head was held underwater to avoid getting electrocuted. He wondered if it happened the same way to Peter.

At least everyone was busy watching him, they couldn’t see Tony’s pale face and wide, teary eyes glued to his son’s collapsed form.

“S-Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand against his cheek. “Continue.”

And she did - though, Rhodes wasn’t focusing on her. Rather, his attention remained fixed on his friend’s unmoving form.

“They kept him, well, _contained_ with ropes, and chains, and - and sometimes hooks-”

The words floated in and out of Rhodes’ mind. He wanted to grasp them, to hear them, to understand what she was saying so he could better help his nephew, but all he could see was Tony-

And Steve.

Tony, who was clearly shaken, staring at his son, his face unnaturally pale and his usually tinkering fingers heavy as lead at his side.

Steve, who looked upset and sad, watching Wanda steadily as if she was delivering a news report about a terrorist attack across the world, rather than actual _torture_ of his son.

“They tried to see how long he would last without oxygen, how long it would take him to be b - buried alive-”

Natasha clasped a hand to her mouth. Rhodes felt too numb to react at all, but even then, he knew he was showing more emotion than Steve was.

Did Steve even _care_? Was he worrying in the slightest? How could these events affect one parent so harshly, and barely touch the other?

“And they-” Wanda suddenly cut herself off, finally snapping Rhodes out of his thoughts to look at her in time to see a hand flying to her mouth as her attention turned to Peter - or, more specifically, different areas of his body.

His wrists, his forearms, his collarbones, and other areas Rhodes couldn’t identify the reason for, but tears began to slip down her cheeks as she watched him.

Peter had been wearing a gray long sleeve turtleneck and black pants since he had been rescued - a simple uniform - and Rhodes had no idea why her eyes flickered across his body as Wanda took a few tentative steps towards him. Tony was about to say something, but Rhodes moved quickly across the room to rest a hand on his arm, holding him back. He needed to see what Wanda was about to do.

Suddenly, Wanda stumbled the rest of the way to collapse at Peter’s side, gingerly reaching a hand out to hover just above his arm as if she was afraid to touch him, before taking a breath and springing forwards, gripping his wrist with one hand and pulling his sleeve back with the other.

The tension was palpable in the air, and a few gasps were heard throughout the room, as the heavy scars along Peter’s arm were exposed.

There were thick, red slashes horizontally along his wrist and vertically up his forearm, the skin around them swollen and scarred. Some seemed almost healed, while others looked barely covered over.

Bucky looked down upon the poor boy, tears of remembrance making themselves known in his eyes. He watched Wanda collapse back on her heels, Rhodes rush over to rest a hand around Tony’s frozen shoulders, Steve bury his face in his hands, Natasha sway on her feet, and Sam leave the room.

Bucky had to admit the scars were horrific - straight out of a movie - though, they weren’t terrible enough to make him react like the others were. He wasn’t frightened, or shocked. No, he was sad.

After all, he had similar-looking scars circling his left shoulder like an ironic halo.

The room was silent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as they gathered around the boy on the floor, each one separated by their reactions, but united in the horrific sight before them.

“He’s just a kid,” Natasha whispered, voicing all their thoughts.

Just a kid.

Just a 15-year-old kid.

Wanda took a shuddering breath, pushing herself to her feet, turned slightly towards the wall in an effort to hide her tears.

It didn’t work.

“When he wakes up,” she said softly, her voice shaking, “it’ll be worse. The memories will be fresh in his mind.” She ran her fingers along her cheeks as if she was wiping something away before turning to the group and attempting to stand up straighter. _Attempting_ being the key word.

“He’ll be taking multiple steps back, but I hope I gave you enough information for you to help him take even more steps forward.”

Wanda moved her eyes around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes individually. Bucky thought he saw them linger on Steve’s, but just as quickly as he noticed it she had moved on.

“He should be up in an hour. If that’ll be all.”

She stepped briskly towards the door and in a moment, she was gone.

Her absence seemed to change the demeanor of the entire room. Natasha sighed deeply, rolling her shoulders back. Steve paced out of the room, but no one was paying attention to him - they were all watching Tony stumble forwards and fall to his knees in front of Peter.

Tony cupped a gentle hand around his son’s cheek, not caring to wipe away the tears as they cascaded down his own face. Tony fought, as hard as he ever had, to keep his eyes away from Peter’s forearm and on his face, but he didn’t have that strength, and eventually they found their way down.

If Rhodes hadn’t moved so quickly to catch him, Tony was sure he would’ve fallen. The sight made his head spin, his eyes barely able to bring the red, raw skin into focus.

But when they finally did, he regretted his choice of looking.

Tony shoved his way out of Rhodes’ grasp to push forwards. (A subconscious part of his mind told him Rhodes still had a supporting grip on him; Tony was sure he would’ve fallen without him.) Tony grasped Peter’s arm as gently as possible, though he couldn’t keep his fingers from tightening their grip around his skin, lifting the limp limb closer to his face and inspecting the wounds. His heart seemed to beat faster with every new scratch his eyes came across, blood rushing in his ears, drowning everything else out - but he didn’t care.

Nothing was more important than what was in his hands right now.

Tony forced his fingers to stop trembling as he gently smoothed his thumb over a particularly large scar, the ridges under the pad making his chest heave with sobs and tears pour harder out of his eyes. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Colour seemed to drain out of the world itself.

When had everything become so dark?

Tony’s hand was trembling so terribly, Peter’s arm began to shake as well when Tony lifted it to his face and pressed his lips gently along the sensitive skin, closing his eyes against the pour of water down his cheeks.

“I am so, so sorry, _bimbo mio_.”

The Italian slipped out before Tony realized what he was saying. _My b_ _aby_ . It was what his mother had called him when he was younger, and it finally seemed fitting for Tony to pass down the title - because that’s what Peter was. His baby. His _child_.

And his baby had been hurt.

His child had been _tortured_.

Tony would kill whoever did this to his kid. He would _kill_ them. Rip them limb from limb. Show them no mercy. Suddenly, Tony was glad for having Wanda. Now he knew _exactly_ what to do when he found them.

“Tony-”

A growl tore from Tony’s lips, the man spinning to crouch protectively in front of Peter the second Rhodes’ hand touched his shoulder. _Rhodes wouldn’t hurt him, idiot_ , Tony tried to convince himself, and he knew it was true. Still, he didn’t want anyone touching Peter, anyone even _near_ him, for a long time.

Rhodes had his hands lifted slightly in surrender, his eyes cautious, but calm.

“Just me, Tones,” he said quietly, trying to convince Tony that this was a moment just between the two of them. There was no one else. Peter was safe.

Tony felt his walls collapse at that moment. Gosh, he loved Rhodes. Since day one, he had known he made the right choice in a friend, and the man gave him more reasons every day to keep convincing him. Even now, when Tony was seconds from attacking the man, Rhodes was still supportive, and understanding, and - gosh, Tony didn’t deserve him.

Slowly, Tony let himself relax, letting his muscles fall loose one by one. Rhodes didn’t drop his hands until Tony gave him a small, apologetic nod.

“Hey.” Rhodes reached a hand out to rest it gently on Tony’s shoulder, slowly as not to arouse any new surprises. Tony rose his eyes slowly to look at him. “Let’s get Peter up to the med bay, yeah? Maybe call Bruce. He’s going to need all the help he can get when he wakes up.”

Tony nodded groggily, thanking all the divinities listening that he had a friend like Rhodes.

He gently scooped Peter up in his arms, making sure his head was comfortable against Tony’s chest, knowing how much the boy felt comfort in the glow of the arc reactor. Even if he wasn’t awake to see it, Tony wanted him to know the support was, and would always be, there for him.

Even through the serenity and - dare he say - _happiness_ of holding Peter in his arms, there was one constant thought nagging at the back of Tony’s mind.

Where was Steve? Why did he leave? And why wasn’t he caring for Peter as a father would?

Why was he barely caring for him at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be my last chapter for a while. I’m feeling unmotivated when it comes to this story, and I’d rather focus on other projects (like Irondad oneshots) and come back to it later than give you guys poorly written chapters. Thank you for all your support!! I love you all <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's examination on Peter reveals dark truths about what happened to him in captivity. Wanda tells Natasha about an upsetting detail in Peter's memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I overcame my writer's block!! Thank you all for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Tony sat collapsed in a chair tucked into the corner of Peter’s med bay room, watching the young boy lay still on the bed, his small chest rising and falling evenly. If anyone walked in and saw Peter, they’d think he was just asleep, peacefully resting within his own mind - but Tony knew better.

Tony knew of the horrors lying beneath the surface. He knew of the monsters that haunted the 15-year-old’s mind. And he knew Peter wasn’t sleeping; he was drowning in his own thoughts. And when Peter woke up, he’d be so far down, Tony wondered if he would ever find his way back.

Tony had brought Peter up to the med bay about an hour ago, Rhodes supporting him the entire way up, and making sure he was okay before calling Bruce and leaving. Now it was just the two of them, one in a medically-induced coma, the other wishing he was. Bruce would be arriving soon.

Wanda’s reaction had worried Tony more than he’d like to admit. This woman, the one who had mastered powers related to the mind, who had manipulated the minds of villains and evil souls without hesitation, had collapsed at the memories of this 15-year-old boy.

Tony was petrified.

At the words of Rhodes, he had tried to sleep, to take a moment to relax, while he waited for Peter to wake up, but Tony just  _ couldn’t _ . He had squished himself into the armchair in every way possible to try to get comfortable. He had tried to count sheep, but lost count somewhere around 2,570. It seemed as though there was some force keeping him from sleeping, from  _ relaxing _ .

Actually, maybe that force was him. As long as Tony was asleep, he couldn’t help Peter. He couldn’t protect him from the dangers of the world. So maybe it was better he stayed awake, anyways. Goodness knows he had refused sleep for a lot longer for a lot less.

Peter’s eyes opened to the sound of creaking beside him. He desperately wanted to see what it was, but he knew he would just end up worse for it, so he remained still, staring at the ceiling. The soft material below him was shocking - usually, when he woke up, it would be strapped to a metal table - but again, he didn’t want to say anything. Who knows, maybe they could finish experimenting on him and he could leave without any extra injuries today.

“Peter?” The sudden voice made him want to wince and cry all at once. Voices were always shortly followed by tools, and weapons, and pain, and punishments - but Peter wouldn’t give them the opportunity to hurt them more than they already would. No, not today.

Suddenly, a face appeared above his own, staring down at him with wide, worried eyes. Peter knew the face from somewhere, he was sure of it - he just didn’t know where. Nonetheless, he remained staring dutifully at the ceiling and tried to still his rapidly beating heart, as if the person wasn’t even there. No, he wouldn’t screw up today.

“Peter, baby, are you okay?”

_ Baby?  _ The use of the nickname confused Peter. Why were they calling him that? Sure, they had called him  _ sweetheart  _ before, but  _ baby _ ? That was a new one, and Peter had to fight to keep his expression neutral. After all, the pain would start soon. He had to stay strong.

“I’m going to get Bruce. I’ll - I’ll be right back.”

And with that, the man was gone.

Peter couldn’t keep his eyebrows from furrowing as he held his body still against the platform beneath him.  _ Bruce….  _ That name sounded familiar as well, but Peter -  _ gosh _ , why couldn’t Peter remember? Mabe… maybe it was a scientist. Maybe Bruce was someone that had been brought in to experiment on him before. So many different  _ specialists _ , they had been called, had been in to see Peter and run tests, the boy was barely affected by it anymore.

_ Bruce _ . Just another name to haunt his nightmares.

A noise was emitted from the doorway. Footsteps. Two sets, by the sound of it. The man had returned, and he had brought this  _ Bruce _ with him.

Peter took a mental deep breath, if that was possible. He sure as heck wasn’t going to breathe deeply in reality - the movement of his chest rising and falling? That would make this whole thing worse.  _ Just lie still _ , Peter told himself reassuringly.  _ Dissociate. Before you know it, it’ll be over. _

“Hi, Peter, how are you doing?” a new voice asked, and Peter was startled out of his own mind. Why were they talking to him? He wasn’t opposing them. They had no reason to talk to him. Plus, they were startling him out of his thoughts. He couldn’t detach if they kept distracting him, and if he didn’t detach he would feel everything, and if he felt everything-

“Peter? Hey, bud.” The face of the first man reappeared closer at Peter’s side, but Peter refused to look. No, it was a  _ trick _ . As soon as his guard was down, as soon as he broke a Rule, they would - they would do  _ something  _ to them, and he- he-

Suddenly, Peter found it hard to breathe, a pressure on his chest keeping his lungs from expanding. He felt his limbs quivering but he  _ couldn’t stop them _ , and, oh no, he was  _ moving _ , and if he was moving-

“Bruce, what’s going on?”

“Appears to be a panic attack, Tony.”

No. No, no,  _ no _ . Peter could not react. He  _ couldn’t _ . He wouldn’t give them reason to hurt him. No, he was being  _ good _ . They couldn’t hurt him if he was acting involuntarily, right?

“Can you do something to help him?” The first man sounded frantic as he looked down at Peter, just stressing out the boy more. Why was he frustrated? Was he frustrated with  _ Peter _ ? What was he asking Bruce to do?

“Tony, snap out of it. I won’t have two panicked people in my workspace. Calm down.”

“I  _ am  _ fucking calm, Bruce.  _ Help him _ .” The angry undertones in the man’s voice made Peter want to shrink back into himself, his eyes widening in fear - but, no. Peter wouldn’t succumb. He would be  _ good _ . He swears, he can be good.

“Tony.  _ Breathe _ .” Oh, no. Now the  _ second  _ man was mad. What did they have to be mad about? Peter didn’t do anything, did he? No, he was sure he didn’t. He fought hard not to. He didn’t want to be punished,  _ didn’t want to be punished _ -

The sudden feeling of a hand on Peter’s arm finally broke down his defenses and the boy shot up to a sitting position, eyes wild, catching sight of the first man with his arms raised, palms facing Peter.  _ He’s going to hit me _ .

A sharp prick was felt in Peter’s opposite arm. His wide eyes snapped to the source - a needle being extracted by the second man, Bruce.

Peter hurried to scratch at the place the needle had been injected, fingers shaking as he hurried to get it out,  _ get it out _ .

“Peter, you can’t-”

Hands tried to grab at Peter, and he fought back. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew the punishment would be awful. He knew how many Rules he was breaking, but they - what had they injected him with?

Suddenly, the room began to swim, dark spots dancing across Peter’s vision. His muscles became weak as he slumped backwards against the headboard, tears beginning to build up at the corners of his eyes. He trailed his eyes up to the first person they could find - the first man from the armchair.

“Please no,” he whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open as his muscles grew weaker and weaker. “I-I didn’t b-break a Rule.” Gentle hands - not the ones belonging to the first man - applied pressure to his shoulders and slid his body until he was lying flat on the bed. His eyes grew darker by the second until he could only make out shadows, and he could barely twitch a finger. He found the strength to force out final words before he succumbed to the darkness.

Maybe, if they heard, his captors would take pity and reverse this.

Maybe they could stop it before it killed him - because Peter was sure that was what was happening right now.

“I promise I can be good.”

Peter didn’t know if he had actually gotten the words out or not, because by that time, he had drowned in the darkness.

◊ ◊ ◊

Bruce stood, panting, staring at Tony over Peter’s limp body on the bed.

He had heard as soon as Peter was rescued, and of  _ course  _ he wanted to rush to see the kid right away, but Steve had held him back, suggesting too many people wouldn’t be good for him right away. Bruce couldn’t deny that he was hurt - he thought he was close enough to Peter to take priority - but he listened anyway and kept his distance.

Until he got a call from Rhodes, saying his help was needed immediately.

Bruce had gotten over trying to tell the Avengers he wasn’t a medical doctor - at this point, he was considering just going back to school and getting his eighth PhD - so it wasn’t that that bothered him.

It was the fact he had only been asked to come because he was needed for something.

Of course Bruce loved the Avengers, and he knew they loved him, too. They were his family.

It just felt like he was currently the odd cousin that was left out of the family gatherings.

Nonetheless, he packed up the special medications made for Peter’s metabolism and headed down to the compound as soon as possible. Even if he was the estranged cousin, he didn’t have to be a useless one.

And it was so much worse than he imagined.

Tony stood panting heavily across the bed from Bruce, his eyes unmoving from Peter. Bruce figured Tony would be used to Peter’s new mannerisms by now, but if Bruce didn’t know any better, he’d say the man looked shocked, and even  _ frightened _ .

“Tony,” he said quietly, calling the man’s attention to him. “What’s been going on?”

Tony looked exhausted, but not in the typical sense of the word. Not  _ physically  _ exhausted, but  _ mentally _ . Bruce could see it in his eyes. The way they were always staring just under eye level. The veins that seemed too red to be real. The shadows that seemed to hang over him no matter which way he turned.

Tony just shook his head, running his tongue along his chapped lips as he thought of something to say. He collapsed back into the armchair, not even thinking to act strong before explaining the entire story.

“We found him, what, two days ago,” he began as Bruce leaned back against the wall, listening intently. “Gosh, two days ago. Feels like forever.”

The man took a moment to collect himself before continuing.

“It was bad, Bruce,” he whispered, his voice sounding so broken Bruce wanted some tangible pieces to be able to glue back together. “He acted like  _ we  _ were the ones that did this to him. Like he was expecting us to - to punish him.”

Bruce’s legs began to sway beneath him as Tony began to speak about all the horrible things that had happened to Peter - that had happened to a fifteen-year-old  _ child _ .

“I don’t know, I guess it was beginning to get better,” Tony sighed, running a hand over his hair, staring straight ahead. “He seemed to be beginning to trust us again, and then - and then something happened with Steve….”

Bruce watched as Tony leaned back in his chair and sighed, and gave the man a moment to collect his thoughts. Though he was  _ bizarrely  _ curious about what this whole Steve incident was, he figured if it was important enough, Tony would tell him. Instead, he just sat back and listened.

“Anyways, after that, his situation started to… deteriorate. It started getting worse. And then Sam and Steve thought of the brilliant idea to bring in Wanda,” Tony spat bitterly, words tumbling out of his mouth in rapid procession, “and she got into his head to figure out what had been done to him - said he might regress back into his old routines afterwards, and clearly he  _ has _ -”

Tony choked on a sob in his throat, turning his face away from Bruce as he fought to blink back tears. Bruce respectfully looked down, waiting until Tony cleared his throat to continue the conversation.

“So what did you call  _ me  _ here for?” Bruce asked softly, hoping that, maybe, just maybe, it would be for extra support. Maybe Peter asked for him. Maybe Tony wanted someone around with similar intellect. Maybe-

“I -  _ we _ \- were worried about, I don’t know, internal injuries, or something? Heaven forbid, brain damage?”

Bruce bit back a sigh, plastering on a small smile and nodding. Of course they didn’t want Bruce; just Dr. Banner.

_ Stop it _ , a voice spoke up in his mind.  _ You’re not equipped to deal with this, anyways. It’s good they didn’t call you in earlier. _

“‘Course, Tony,” he said quietly, beginning to prepare tools, not noticing the look of relief that flushed Tony’s face at Bruce’s agreeance as Tony began to walk out of the room.

“Um, actually,” Bruce spoke up quietly, stopping Tony in his tracks, “why… why didn’t you call Cho, or someone? I mean, she’s… she’s  _ way  _ more equipped than I am for this.”

A look of confusion flashed on Tony’s face as he cocked his head, staring at Bruce quizzically.

“There’s no one I trust to do this more than you, Bruce.”

And as Tony left the room, Bruce had to admit, that made him smile.

◊ ◊ ◊

The examination didn’t take too long. Bruce used multiple methods - x-rays, shined a flashlight in his eyes, applied pressure to different areas to see how Peter’s body would react - and called Tony back in to the room to tell him that there were no major internal injuries. Bruce hated the look of relief that flashed across Tony’s face. It just made him regret saying what he needed to next.

“So, he’s - he’s okay, then?” Tony asked warily. Clearly, the grave look on Bruce’s face was making him uneasy.

Bruce looked away momentarily, collecting himself. Then, he brought his attention back to Tony and slightly shook his head.

“Yes,” he sighed, “his brain’s fine. No damage.”

“Okay….” Tony looked unsure. “Then why are you being so cryptic? You just said he’s fine.”

“Yes, internally, so there’ll be no lasting damage. Well, not damage, but no lasting…  _ effects _ .”

“Bruce.” Tony’s voice was stern as he ran a hand down his face in frustration. “Give it to me straight.  _ Please _ .”

“Tony….” Bruce’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t a real doctor. He had no idea how to deliver this news. Silently, he beckoned Tony over to where Peter was lying on the bed, sheets pulled up right up to his neck. “Look.”

Hands shaking, Bruce reached out to gently grab the sheet in his hand and pull down the blanket. At first it seemed like nothing was wrong - the hospital gown concealed his chest and shoulders.

But then Peter’s arms were revealed.

_ Scars  _ on his arms were revealed.

Tony made a choking noise, and even Bruce had to resist the urge to look away. They were like the scars Tony had seen on Peter’s forearm earlier, but now he saw there were so much more on his right arm than on his left. The skin on his right forearm especially was so red and marred it was much more agitated than his normal, flushed colour - he could barely see the original tan underneath.

Just when Tony thought it couldn’t get any worse, Bruce silently reached out a tentative hand to rest it on Peter’s neck. Tony’s head jolted up to stare at him quizzically.

“Look-” Bruce sighed, turning his head away as he continued to rest his fingers gently on peter’s skin. “Look closer, Tony.”

With one last glance at Bruce, looking confused with undertones of worry, Tony rested a hand on an unoccupied part of the bed, careful not to rustle Peter (even in sleep) and carefully leaned over the boy, trying to ignore his gently resting face. No, he - this wasn’t Peter. This wasn’t  _ his  _ kid, lying unconscious on a bed after being sedated because he was freaking out at the sight of his Dad.

Nope. Not Peter.

Tony brought his face closer to Peter’s neck, where Bruce’s finger was pointing. Once he was sure Tony was looking at the right area, Bruce took his hand away and took a step back, rubbing a hand over his face.

Clearly, he was upset - in distress - but Tony couldn’t worry about Bruce right now. What he currently saw on his son’s neck required his attention much more.

They were rope burns.

_ Rope burns. _

On his child’s  _ neck _ .

“Bruce, what the-” Tony couldn’t keep himself from yelling. It took all he had to keep himself from clenching his fingers in anger, as they were currently touching Peter’s neck. He settled for pulling his hand away as if it had been burned and clenching it at his side.

“ _ -what the hell? _ ” he whispered hoarsely as he raised his eyes to stare at Bruce. The sudden change of emotion, from neutral to boiling-hot rage to utter  _ helplessness _ , caused his head to spin.

Bruce just stared back sadly and shrugged, looking defeated. “I - I don’t know, Tony. I didn’t notice any bruises on his larynx and like neck muscles, so it - whatever the rope was used for, it wasn’t  _ too  _ tight, but-”

“Doesn’t matter how fucking  _ tight  _ it was, Bruce!” Tony yelled, the boiling anger returning all at once. He stormed around the bed to stand over Bruce under the premise of anger. Really, it was because he couldn’t stand to have Peter in his line of sight for a moment longer. Now that Tony had noticed the mark burns, they were glaringly obvious. He wondered if he could ever look at Peter again and  _ not  _ notice the rashes.

Bruce took a step back, startled by Tony’s sudden hostile presence.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony corrected himself hoarsely, taking a step back after seeing the flash of fear on Bruce’s face. “It doesn’t matter, because there was still a rope. They still tortured my son, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head, empathy evident on his features.

“Listen, you said you talked to Wanda, right? Did she mention anything about… _ropes_? Maybe we could figure out what exactly happened.”

Tony sighed. “Look, I don’t know. I kind of… zoned out after the second thing she said. It was too much. I - I couldn’t listen to it.”

“Well, why don’t you try calling her and asking? Then we’d know for sure-”

“No,” Tony cut him off. “Nope. I’m not doing that. I’ve already spoken to her once today.”

“Tony, this isn’t just about  _ you _ . Put your ego aside for a second and think about Peter.”

Tony glared at the man before sighing reluctantly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he called to the ceiling, and the AI answered immediately. “Tell Romanoff to call the witch. They seemed like they connected earlier. Ask about….” Tony paused momentarily, closing his eyes. “Ask about ropes around Peter’s neck.”

“And by  _ the witch _ , you’re referring to Ms. Maximoff, Sir?”

Tony groaned. Don’t give her a  _ name _ .

“Yes, yeah. Whatever,” he sighed dismissively, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed the message before going quiet again. Bruce waited a moment before speaking.

“You know Wanda’s just trying to help, Tony.”

Tony was tired of hearing that. Tired of hearing,  _ She’s just trying to help. She’s good. She’s on  _ our  _ side. She’s changed.  _ No, she  _ hasn’t _ . Tony sees the look in her eyes. The hunger and ferocity whenever she uses her powers. The need to be the strongest in the room.

No one else may see it, but Tony does.

Tony just shook his head, waving dismissively.

“Where’d these other scars come from?” he said instead, turning back to Peter. At this point, he didn’t know what he would rather do - forgive the witch, or look at his son lying mangled in a hospital bed.

Wait, no, bad joke. He would  _ definitely  _ prefer the former. He would fucking  _ marry  _ Wanda if it meant Peter would be safe.

Tony should stop making jokes when he’s mad.

Bruce sighed as he joined Tony, standing over Peter.

“The scars on his right wrist and forearm are  _ significantly  _ more, well,  _ intense  _ than on other areas of his arms - and they’re  _ only  _ on his arms. There must’ve been some kind of pattern, but I can’t think of what it might be.”

“He’s not a fucking  _ puzzle _ , Bruce.”

The tone was calm enough, but the words packed a punch. Bruce held his hands up as if in surrender. “I know that, Tony. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”

Tony sighed in frustration.

Suddenly, something dawned on him. His head snapped up as if he had been shocked.

“Bruce, that first day, he was reciting these - these rules,” Tony said quickly, eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” Bruce questioned skeptically.

“I don’t know, it was like he went into a trance or something. He just started repeating these rules like-” Oh gosh, it hurt Tony to just think it. “Don’t speak, or - or  _ move _ . And as he said each one, he touched a certain part of his body.”

Bruce stared back, eyes wide. “And you think the rules correspond with the scars?”

Tony shrugged. “If we’re considering wrists, forearms, and biceps…. But there were more than six rules, Bruce, so I don’t know if….” He drifted off, eyes staring softly down at Peter.

“It’s a good place to start.” Bruce watched Tony sadly, who met his eyes and nodded sincerely.

◊ ◊ ◊

“ _ Ms. Romanoff? _ ”

Natasha almost fell off the couch at the sound of the A.I.’s voice.

“Oh, um… yeah, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the robotic voice yet, especially not speaking to it (her?) directly. The only times Natasha had ever spoken to the A.I. was when it/she was speaking to Tony and Natasha was nearby, or speaking to the group as a whole. Talking to the empty air was a new experience for her.

“ _ Mr. Stark has requested you call Ms. Maximoff and ask about anything related to ropes being used around Peter and his neck _ .” Natasha bit her lip. She didn’t even want to  _ think  _ about why Tony wanted her to do  _ that _ .

“Um, alright,” she finally stuttered out. Then, not knowing how to end a conversation with the A.I. (did it/she require pleasantries?) finished with, “Thank you.”

“ _ My pleasure, Ms. Romanoff. _ ”

Natasha couldn’t help feeling accomplished. Her first conversation with a self-aware robot/building!

But then, she was reminded of her task.

Gnawing anxiously on her lower lip, Natasha took out her phone and dialled Wanda’s number, before sitting perched on the edge of the couch, her leg bumping up and down anxiously. She was the only one in the room, so she didn’t feel awkward about her obvious displays of anxiety - which was a good thing, because she didn’t think she would’ve been able to control herself, alone or not, when the greeting on the opposite end of the line signified that Wanda had picked up the phone.

“ _ Hello? _ ”

“Hi, Wanda,” Natasha greeted in what she hoped sounded like a positive tone - or, at least, not morbid. “It’s Nat. Sorry to be bothering you again, but there - there’s something going on with Peter,” she decided to say. Truth was, she had no idea what was going on, but she figured it was best she not say that.

“I - we - were wondering, when you read Peter’s mind, you mentioned ropes.” Natasha could practically feel the tension through the phone. “Did you see - or,  _ read _ \- any… specifics?”

Wanda was silent for a moment, and Natasha wondered if she was even still there - until, finally, she cleared her throat, her voice quiet.

“They used the ropes to restrain him when they transported him from room to room.”

Natasha paused for a moment. “And was there anything related to his neck, specifically?”

Wanda’s voice was quiet, shaky. “Natasha, they - they were dragging him around like a  _ dog _ .”

Natasha clenched her eyes shut, the image of Peter being led around like an animal filling her mind like a horrible mosaic. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to recalibrate before she responded.

“Thank you.” And then, before Wanda had the chance to respond she continued, “Listen, I’m sorry for how Tony treated you.”

“I’m used to it,” Wanda replied, a hint of humour behind her voice. “Besides, I  _ did  _ do awful things to him. You all, actually.”

“Yeah, but you’ve changed,” Natasha argued gently. “The rest of us, we all trust you. We just have to wait for Tony to come around.”

“Yeah,” Wanda sighed, and it was quiet again - almost too quiet, which Natasha took to mean something else was coming.

“Natasha, there’s - there’s something else I saw,” she said all of a sudden, stumbling over her panicked words. Natasha sat up straighter.

“Peter never heard any names, okay? His captors never told him anything.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. “Yeah….”

“But there  _ was  _ one name. And I didn’t want to tell you guys because it couldn’t have been real, I didn’t believe it, it must’ve been Peter’s subconscious tainting his memories from  _ before  _ he was taken-”

“Wanda,” Natasha cut in sternly. “Breathe.”

The voice on the other end complied.

“Okay, but, Natasha-” Wanda sighed heavily before speaking again, her voice a barely-audible whisper - but Natasha still heard it.

And comprehended it.

And wished she hadn’t.

“It was Steve, Natasha,” she whispered, and Natasha’s heart skipped a beat. “Steve Rogers.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha spreads the news about Wanda's discovery.

Tony sat quietly beside Peter’s bed, back in the armchair he had sat in originally. Bruce was tinkering with something on the nearby desk, but Tony didn’t really care what it was. Bruce had recently assured Tony he had nothing more to check up on Peter, and now they were just waiting for him to wake up, which should still take a few hours - Bruce had injected him without knowledge of how long the actual procedure would take, so he overshot. Better to be safe than sorry.

Suddenly, there was a light knock at the door, and Natasha entered, face pale, looking like she had seen a ghost.

“Tony, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Her voice was shaky, eyes wide and frazzled, and Tony immediately pushed himself to his feet, Bruce doing the same.

“Is everything alright?” Bruce called, concerned, from the opposite side of the room - but Natasha just waved him off.

“Yeah, it’s - everything’s fine, Bruce. Tony, _now_ , please.”

Confused, Tony swiftly followed her out the door until she stopped suddenly, Tony almost bumping into her in the process. He peeked around her body and saw Steve there, quickly stepping aside to allow Natasha to pass.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, but Natasha remained fixed in her place, standing strong, staring him down.

“What are you doing here?” she growled, voice tense. Steve’s brows furrowed, taken aback by the sudden hostility.

“I’m coming to visit Peter,” he answered lightly, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“He’s asleep.”

“Oh. Well, am I still allowed to see him?”

Natasha sidestepped to stand between Steve and the door, and Tony watched her go, mouth agape.

“No,” she said tersely, forcing her voice to be light. Tony stared at her, eyes wide.

“Everything alright, Romanoff?” He wanted to tell Steve to go in. Sure, he was skeptical of why Steve had been so distant lately, but Peter was still his kid. Steve deserved to see him. Although, he _did_ trust Natasha, the two of them forming a tight bond over the years - and with how tense Natasha was acting, he really didn’t want to question her.

Natasha nodded quickly, not taking her eyes off Steve.

“Yeah, it’s great. No one’s supposed to be with Peter right now, though. That’s why I was just leaving with Tony.”

Steve looked over at Tony questioningly, and Tony, knowing better than to oppose Natasha, shrugged and nodded in agreeance. Steve looked him over once, asking a silent question of, _Are you okay?_ But Tony just averted his gaze, instead looking back to Natasha, resulting in Steve doing the same.

“All right then,” Steve nodded with finality. “I guess I’ll just… go… do something else,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he turned and walked down the hall the way he had come. Natasha scowled after him, waiting until he disappeared around the corner before beginning a brisk walk in the opposite direction. Tony followed, though quickly falling behind her determined steps.

“Romanoff, what’s this about?” he tried to ask, but she didn’t respond - not until she had led him up to her room and had closed the door behind him, the sound of the lock clicking shut setting a faint chill through his bones - but obviously, he wouldn’t let it show, instead replacing it with snark.

“You know I’m in a loving relationship with Steve.”

Natasha glared at him as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Alright, serious. I can do serious. What’s this about?”

Natasha let her arms fall, running a hand through her hair as she sighed deeply. Warning bells were going off in Tony’s mind, making him sick with anxiety. What was big enough to distraught the Black Widow?

“I called Wanda,” she began, and reality set in for Tony. _Right_. He had forgotten he had asked her to call the witch. “I asked about the ropes, and she said they were used to contain Peter. And the one around his - his neck was to lead him from room to room,” she paused to meet Tony’s eyes, “like an animal.”

Tony froze, the fingers previously drumming aimlessly against his thigh falling heavily still. He stared at Natasha, begging her to continue, “I’m just kidding!” and tell him this was all a big nightmare. _No one_ should be treated like an animal, especially not his own sweet, innocent Peter Parker - but Natasha wasn’t done.

“And there’s - there’s more,” she continued quietly, looking anxiously toward the still-locked door. Tony followed her gaze, intense eyes urging her to continue before he exploded from anxiety.

“He heard a name, Tony,” she murmured, her eyes an image of caution. “Well, Wanda heard it while reading his mind. I don’t think Peter remembers - they must’ve tried to make him forget - but….”

A flicker of hope lit up in Tony’s chest - or was it a flame of vengeance? Tony couldn’t tell, but one thing was for sure: “We can hunt them down now.”

Tony’s mind started making preparations. First he’d need to run name recognition through F.R.I.D.A.Y., and then he could find this son of a bitch and hunt them down, treat them the same way they treated Peter-

“It was Steve,” Natasha interrupted quietly, causing Tony’s thoughts to come to an abrupt halt. He stared at her questioningly.

“What?”

“Steve Rogers, Tony. The one name he heard.”

Tony’s world held still - and then it began to spin.

“Steve?” he exclaimed, sharply, quickly. Natasha nodded, eyes downcast - but Tony wouldn’t accept it. “No, they must’ve been worried Steve would find Peter. He wasn’t there _with_ him.”

“It was the only name he’s heard in two months, Tony. It _can’t_ be a coincidence.”

“It must be!” Tony suddenly yelled. Natasha, to her credit, didn’t flinch back, but only stared at him in confusion, and, dare Tony say, hurt.

He didn’t _mean_ to yell, it was just - those had been his fears for the entirety of the last two months. Someone on the inside had sold Peter out, and _that_ ’s why the team could never find him. Everyone had been convincing him that that could never be the case… but now _this?_

“I’m sorry,” Tony sighed, running a hand along his face. “But let’s say this is true. _Why_ would Steve do it? Why would he sell out his kid to be… _tested_ , and - and tortured?”

Natasha shook her head, looking lost. “We could always just ask him.”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, that would work. Just ask him and he’ll suddenly confess to giving up our son, causing me to be on the verge of a heart attack for two months straight. Great. He’ll _definitely_ admit to that.”

Natasha glared at him wordlessly, but that was enough to shut him up. Tony rolled his eyes as he collapsed back onto Natasha’s bed, running his hands along his thighs. After a moment, Natasha joined him.

“Do you really think he did it?” Tony asked quietly, staring down at his legs.

“I honestly don’t know, Tony,” she sighed, trying to make eye contact with the man beside her - but he refused to look up. “Wanda said she heard the name, so we might as well try - hey, don’t roll your eyes. She’s trying to help.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled to the surface as Tony stood from the bed and started pacing. Natasha watched him, worried.

“‘She’s trying to help,’” Tony repeated, as if to himself. “That’s all I keep hearing.”

“Because it’s _true_ , Tony, calm down-”

“No!” he suddenly exclaimed, stopping his pacing to glare at Natasha. “I _won’t_ calm down. She manipulated me, Natasha-”

“Yeah, me too, Tony,” she retorted, standing to stare back at him.

“Not like me. She showed me New York, and the wormhole, and you were all _dead_ , Natasha. Every single one of you, and it was _my fault_.”

“Yeah, I heard when you said it before, Tony, but you’re not the only one who saw something. I did too, alright? You saw your worst fear. I had to relive my own _experiences_.”

A haunted look crossed her eyes as she got lost in her thoughts. She looked scared, and small, and Tony had never seen her defenses down before as they were now.

“Listen, I’m not going to tell you what I saw.” She met Tony’s eyes, speaking softly. “But you have to trust me when I say that you’re not the only one she hurt. I thought I had gotten over that experience, but when she got in my head….” Natasha blinked. “I know you keep hearing this, but it might do you some good to listen.

“Back when Wanda did that to us, she was under Ultron’s control.” Tony had to hold back a shiver at the mention of his failed experiment. “She’s changed now, Tony, and I’m not just saying that. She helped us in Lagos, remember?”

“She _killed_ people in Lagos and essentially created the Sokovian Accords and caused a rift between us.”

“Oh, _come on_ , Tony.” Natasha threw her hands up in exasperation. “Stop being so naive. That wasn’t just _her_. There had been incidents before that, and she wasn’t the only one to refuse to sign the Accords.”

“Okay, but she _started_ it.”

“ _Tony_.” Natasha glared up him, efficiently shutting him up. “She is part of the team now, whether you like it or not. Everyone else has forgiven her. You’re the only one that still seems to have an issue with this.”

Tony stared at her, arms crossed, unspeaking.

“If she wanted to hurt Peter, she had plenty of opportunity to. Plus, she called me to tell me about Steve. She didn’t have to do that.”

Suddenly, Tony’s eyes widened, a thought crossing his mind.

“What if she made it up?”

Natasha groaned, pushing her knuckles against her forehead in frustration. “She wouldn’t have-”

“What if she _did_ , Natasha? It’s a possibility.”

Natasha pinched her lips together, looking doubtful. She spoke as if she was talking to a toddler.

“Yes, Tony, it _is_ a possibility. A very, _very_ unlikely possibility without any reason behind it.”

“But still a possibility.”

“Isn’t this what you’ve been predicting all along? That someone on the _inside_ had done it? You were right, Tony, you should be pleased-”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony laughed suddenly, the sound harsh and cold, making Natasha flinch in surprise. “Yes, I’m _so_ pleased after finding out that the love of my life kidnapped and tortured my son. Those are _exactly_ my emotions at this moment. Thank you, Natasha.”

Natasha ran a hand through her hair. “Tony, I didn’t mean-”

“No,” Tony interrupted, pushing past her to unlock and open the door to her room. “Nope, that’s great, Romanoff. Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

“Tony-” Her words were cut off by Tony’s retreating back and the door slamming shut behind him.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve sat on the couch in the living room, sketchbook in his lap, drawing a shape that roughly resembled a young boy - Peter, Steve realized. Even when he wasn’t focused, he was still thinking about Peter.

He was itching to get into the med bay room to see his kid. He needed to know if Peter was _okay_ , because he himself had experienced the powers of the Scarlet Witch. He knew how they could affect a person. They weren’t fun.

A smaller part of himself that Steve tried to shove down wanted to get in there for a different reason. He needed to know how much Peter remembered.

A sudden presence joining him on the couch made Steve look up in surprise. It was Tony, leaning lightly against his side without placing his full weight on the man. Steve closed his sketchbook and set it aside, instead resting his arm around Tony’s shoulder, letting the man relax as he gently rubbed his hand along Tony’s bicep.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, feeling Tony adjust himself beneath Steve’s arm.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony murmured after a moment’s wait. “I’m worried. How are we going to help Peter recover? They put him through so much shit.”

“Language,” Steve replied faintly, trying to overpower his intense feelings of guilt. _He_ had done this to Peter.

Tony chuckled from beside him at the reminder, but he quickly sobered.

“We have to find them, Steve,” he continued quietly, sighing deeply. “We have to find the people that hurt our son.”

Steve’s hand froze on Tony’s shoulder, a scary, icy hold gripping his veins and refusing to let go. He tried to resume his previous actions before Tony realized anything was wrong.

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying to let the repetitive action soothe his nerves. It didn’t work. “We’ll find him.”

“Him?” Tony looked up, startled.

“Them,” Steve corrected quickly, heart beating loudly in his ears. “I meant them.”

Tony nodded, resting his head back on Steve’s chest - and Steve hated it. The trust Tony had in him. The way he undeniably believed Steve would always be there for him.

Steve hated that he couldn’t be who Tony thought he was - who Tony deserved.

◊ ◊ ◊

Natasha found Sam and Bucky in Sam’s room, arguing over the remote for the t.v. By the looks of it, Bucky wanted to watch some kind of reality t.v. show, while Sam preferred an action movie. Really, it was the loud voices and death threats that alerted her of their presence.

They were so lost in their argument, they didn’t even notice her entering the room and closing the door behind her. She cleared her throat, _twice_ , but they still refused to look up.

“Those movies are so unrealistic. No one can jump from a building and continue running as if nothing happened.”

“Oh, and your dating shows are so much better? You know all those people are actors, right?”

“What, and your _action characters_ aren’t?”

“Boys,” Natasha finally called out, and their eyes immediately snapped up to meet hers. Sam took the opportunity to rip the remote from Bucky’s hands and change the channel to his movie, causing Bucky to scowl in response.

“Guys. _Hey_.” Natasha moved to step in front of the t.v., arms crossed over her chest as she stared them down. She could see Sam’s eyes drifting to the still-visible corner of the screen, and so she ripped the remote from his hands and pressed the power button before throwing it on the bed between them, raising her eyebrows at Sam’s betrayed expression.

“You gonna listen to me now?” Sam grumbled some kind of response, but she still had his attention, so she continued anyways. “Good. Listen, there’s something serious going on with Steve.”

This had them both snapping to attention, especially Bucky, immediately straightening to stare Natasha in the eyes.

“Is he okay?” Bucky asked gravely, and Natasha just shrugged, searching for words.

“Yes, he’s fine, in _that_ sense.” She took a breath, ignoring Sam’s questioning look before continuing. “Wanda called. When she read Peter’s mind, she heard a name - and it was the only one Peter heard in the last two months.” Natasha paused, biting her lip before continuing. “It was Steve’s.”

Bucky stared at her, confusion clear on his features. “What was the context?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha answered with a sigh. “All Wanda told me is that this was the only name he’s heard. Steve Rogers.”

“Well, I mean, he’s Captain America,” Sam tried to reason, and Bucky found himself nodding in agreeance. He didn’t necessarily like the guy, but Sam had some good points. “He’s pretty well-known. Maybe they were worried about Steve coming for them.”

“I’m not so sure,” Natasha spoke up again, fidgeting with her arms folded across her chest. “They said _Steve Rogers_ , not Captain America - and, why didn’t they mention Tony, or anyone else?”

“Could we ask Peter when he wakes up?” Sam suggested, but Bucky shook his head.

“That won’t fair so well,” Bucky replied, speaking from experience as he ran a hand through his hair. “Asking him to delve back into those memories, that’ll bring back some bad shit.”

Natasha stared at him, her eyes softening as she realized what this whole thing meant - not just for Peter, but for Bucky as well. Bucky tried to ignore her pitiful stare, keeping his head down.

“Well, what other option to we have?” Sam pitched in.

“We could call Wanda again,” Bucky suggested faintly, “if Tony would let us. Ask her to read Steve’s mind this time. But I really have trouble believing Steve would do anything like what we’re suspecting. He _loves_ Peter. We all do.” He looked up in time to see Natasha and Sam nodding in agreement.

“Well,” Natasha sighed, “if that’s what we have to do to convince Tony, that’s what we’ll do.”

Sam nodded for a moment before speaking. “Who else knows?”

“Just you two, and I tried to tell Tony.” Natasha groaned, thinking back on that mess of a conversation. “He didn’t believe me. Got upset and stormed out.”

“So I guess he’ll be opposed to that _Wanda_ idea, then,” Bucky assumed, inducing a nod from Natasha. “We should at least tell Rhodes. And Bruce, too. Get their opinion on it.”

“I hate that I’m saying this,” Sam grumbled, “but that’s a good idea. We’ll go tell Rhodes. Natasha, you can let Bruce know?”

Natasha nodded, giving the pair a final, comforting smile before leaving the room. Bucky watched her go before speaking.

“Why’d you pair us together?” he groaned, earning him a remote to the head.

“Shut up and watch your stupid dating show.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Half an hour later, Natasha, Bucky, and Sam were gathered with Bruce and Rhodey in front of Peter’s med bay room, speaking in whispers. Both Bruce and Rhodes had been hesitant to accept that Steve had been the one to take Peter, but at the moment they weren’t sure what to think, what to _believe_. They had decided to just call Wanda, and now they were waiting for her to arrive.

Natasha had made the call. Wanda had seemed hesitant to accept until Natasha mentioned this time it was _Steve_ she needed to read, and by that point she was eager to accept. She must’ve been curious of the meaning of the name she heard, as well.

Peter was still asleep, and Bruce predicted he had a bit longer to go, which was good for them - what they were discussing now was _definitely_ not safe for Peter to hear.

After Natasha hung up, they all were silent. No one wanted to address the situation. No one wanted to admit what they were all thinking, to bring it up for debate. Though no one was voicing it, the question still hung heavy in the air - what if this was real? What if Steve _really_ gave up his son? What did that mean for the Avengers?

What did that mean for _Peter?_

Rhodes cleared his throat, finally speaking up. “I guess we should go warn Tony, then,” he suggested quietly. “We don’t want Wanda to scare him by showing up unannounced.”

“And we should also talk to Steve,” Bruce added amongst hums of agreement. “Maybe… maybe we can get him to… clarify things.” What he meant to say was, _Maybe we can get him to admit it._ But he didn’t say that.

“I’ll try to talk to Tony again,” Rhodes volunteered. “Natasha, you actually spoke to Wanda. We should try together.”

Natasha nodded solemly.

“And I’d like to speak to Steve,” Bucky added quietly. “I’d… I’d like to be the one to ask.”

Everyone focused their eyes on the ground, everyone understanding, but no one wanting to, address that statement. Bucky was after the truth. If Steve was working with HYDRA, he wanted to know why.

“And… if there’s a chance he’d get violent,” Bruce contributed, voice barely above a whisper, “you would be best equipped to handle it.”

Bucky met his eyes, sad but firm, and nodded his agreement.

“Okay,” Natasha spoke up, meeting everyone’s eyes individually for confirmation. “Let’s… let’s go talk to them, I guess. Bruce, would you mind just… waiting with Peter?” _Protecting him from Steve if he comes this way?_ Bruce was quick to nod. “And Sam, could you wait for Wanda at the door?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Alright then.” Natasha sighed, nodding quickly. “Let’s go break the news.”

Rhodes and Natasha went first, finding Tony and Steve easily in the living room. Rhodes went directly for Tony, while Natasha stood back and kept her eyes fixed on Steve. Tony straightened with a start, shrugging Steve’s arm off him as he stood to meet Rhodes.

“Tony,” he greeted, nodding his head to the direction of the door. “You mind coming outside for a minute?”

Tony turned his head back to look at Steve - Steve, who looked almost… _scared_. He was looking at Natasha with wide eyes that only seemed to get wider at Rhodes’ words. And then, he looked at Tony, almost begging him not to go.

“What’s going on?” Tony questioned, his gaze moving to Natasha, standing stiff as a statue behind Rhodes.

“Just need to talk to you.”

Tony send one last look over his shoulder to Steve, his eyes giving a comforting message of, _I’ll be right back_ , before nodding at Rhodes and following him out the door. He felt Natasha’s presence behind him, but didn’t look, rather choosing to focus on the back of Rhodes’ head. With one person in front and one person behind him, leading Tony away from his love, he couldn’t help but feel like this was an intervention.

On his way out of the room, Tony passed by Bucky, the man looking straight ahead as he entered the room Tony had just left. The sad determination on his face sent shivers down Tony’s spine, confused eyes snapping back to Rhodes.

“So?” he shrugged, trying to conceal worry with arrogance. “Why’d you drag me out here for?”

“Listen, Tones,” Rhodes started quietly, and suddenly Tony’s mind put two and two together. Why Rhodes looked so upset. Natasha’s defensive glares at Steve. Bucky entering the room Steve was now alone in.

“Natasha told you all, didn’t she?” he interrupted, whipping his head around to stare at her in anger. “She told you what Wanda told her.”

After a moment, Rhodes met his eyes and nodded slowly.

“But, Tony, maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to-”

“To, what?” Tony interrupted again. “To assume the man I raised this child with had nothing to do with the kidnapping of said child?” He paused to let his message sink in. “Really, I don’t know what you all are thinking. Steve would _never_ hurt Peter.”

“We never said he would,” Rhodes tried to reassure, but Tony scoffed at his words.

“You’re right, you’re not saying it, you’re implying.”

“Tony, we called Wanda back.”

Tony glared at Rhodes, more angry than before, if that was even possible.

“What the _hell_ , Rhodes?” he yelled suddenly, but Rhodes didn’t even blink. “ _Why?_ ”

“You need to calm down-”

“I will _not_ calm down until you answer my question!”

“She’s going to read his mind, Tony,” Rhodes answered at the same volume, though he wasn’t yelling - he just refused to be talked over. “See what the truth really is.” Tony seemed to deflate at this, his eyes turning sad. “If she doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary, great. But if she does….”

Rhodes left his statement unfinished, not bothering to continue. He let Tony fill in the rest for himself.

“I want to see Steve.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea-”

“Let me see him,” Tony growled; though, his intensity had rapidly decreased, and he was now speaking at a normal volume, too exhausted to keep his anger. “Please. While my opinion of him is still untainted.”

Rhodes sighed, making eye contact with Natasha behind Tony’s back (who had been so quiet, Tony had forgotten she existed). Finally, he nodded, eyes resting back on Tony’s.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Go on in.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda reads Steve's mind and learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you guys had to wait so long for such a poorly-written chapter 😬

Bucky stepped into the room, thoughts surprisingly quiet and calm. He didn’t want to believe Steve did it. He didn’t want to believe Steve kidnapped Peter and had him experimented on for two months, leaving the rest of the team to run around, scared out of their minds.

The fact of the matter is that it could very well be true.

Bucky’s not going to make assumptions, though. He’s going to wait for confirmation. Then, maybe the floodgates will open, the anger coming crashing down.

Until that point, he’ll remain calm and collected.

The first thing Bucky notices as he steps into the room is the form sitting rigidly on the couch -  _ Steve’s  _ form. He’s staring straight ahead, hands rested lightly on his legs. His back is straight, shoulders held tall, but his head is leaning forward, tired.

Bucky crossed the room quickly but quietly to take a seat on the couch beside him, Steve turning his head to the side to stare at the source of the movement. A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth when he sees his best friend, but it’s gone in the next second, wiped away by a wave of misery.

“You alright?” Bucky asked quietly, trying to read his friend’s emotions by the side of his face, but all he saw was  _ despair _ .

Steve sighed deeply before answering. “Do you know?”

Bucky bit his cheek as Steve froze, waiting for an answer. “Is it true?”

Those three simple words hung suspended in the air for what seemed like an hour, both heavily anxious to match them with the answer. For Steve, it would mean accepting it all - what he did, what he had  _ chosen  _ to do. For Bucky, it meant he might never be able to look at his friend in the same way, maybe ever.

And so no one answered.

But that seemed like answer enough.

“Why?” Bucky tried to make his voice strong, and firm. This was  _ not  _ the Steve Rogers he knew, the Steve Rogers he grew up with. But looking at his friend’s face, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks, he looked familiar.

He looked like that small, weak kid from Brooklyn that Bucky had sworn to protect at all costs, the one with a heart larger than the entire city’s put together. The person that Bucky had missed the most when he first joined the army. The kid Bucky had blindly followed into battle.

Bucky didn’t know where it all went south.

Steve didn’t answer, keeping his jaw firmly shut. Bucky could’ve sworn he was a statue, but the constant stream of tears down his cheeks told him otherwise.

“They’re calling back Wanda, you know,” Bucky stated softly. “We’re all gonna know.”

“How long?” Steve’s voice was broken, sounding choked with tears.

“She’s on her way right now.”

Steve looked as though he had just been sent to the gallows - which, in a way, it was kind of like he was. He would never recover from this. The team would never look at him the same; and Steve knew it.

“Steve, just tell me why,” Bucky pleaded. He just wanted to hear it from Steve, rather than anyone else. He wanted Steve’s truth, before the harsh reality set in. Steve seemed to disagree.

He shook his head before slowly raising his eyes to stare at Bucky.

“Don’t think of me any different,” he whispered, voice broken, eyes wet with tears, but a pleading determination so strong Bucky had to look away.

“I don’t know if I can promise that, Steve,” he answered, looking down at his legs. He heard Steve exhale beside him and saw the man’s head drop in his peripherals. “I mean,  _ HYDRA _ ?” Bucky was aware of his whispers sounding more and more desperate with each word, but he couldn’t help it. “You know what they did to me, Steve. How dare you?”

He looked up to his friend just in time to see his wide, tearful eyes before a new presence walked through the doorway. It was Tony’s voice that spoke next.

“Mind if I speak to my sweetheart?”

Bucky noticed Steve tense beside him. He wanted to ask why, but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, and he would learn soon anyways. He tried to give Steve one final look of comfort, but the man had reverted to staring straight ahead like stone. Sighing, Bucky stood and stepped out of the room, not even looking at Tony as he left.

Steve straightened up as soon as Bucky left, trying to look more relaxed as Tony stared at him, analyzing, from just inside the doorway. His hands were in his pockets as he stood, strong and silent. Steve met his glare, unflinching. Tony was now wearing tinted glasses. Steve wondered when he had found the time to put those on.

Tony sighed, stroking a hand on his chin as he slowly stepped closer to the couch until he was standing over Steve, still keeping eye contact. Finally, he sunk back into the couch cushions beside Steve - close enough to feel each other’s comfort, but far enough not to touch.

Neither of them was ready to do that. Not anymore.

They sat, unspeaking, staring at the blank wall in front of them for what seemed like hours. The entire time, Steve was bubbling with anxiety. What was Tony thinking? Would he eventually voice his thoughts, or just sit here?

Steve wanted to break the silence, but he had no idea how. He had to say  _ something _ , though. Anything was better than this silence.

“How much do you know-”

“Don’t,” Tony cut him off sharply, eyes still fixed on the wall in front of them. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Steve turned to him, eyes wary. “Tony, don’t you think we should-”

“Not now.” Tony turned sharply to look at Steve, eyes reserved. Steve could practically see the man’s walls going up. “I’ll figure out soon enough. Let me have this time with you.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew what he was going to say.  _ Let me have this time with you… while I still love you _ .

Steve nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. The guilt was overwhelming. He wanted to tell Tony, to finally be  _ honest _ , no matter where it got him. Tony didn’t deserve this.

But maybe the best way to treat Tony was to respect his wishes, so that’s what Steve would do.

Tony leaned into Steve’s side, resting his head against the man’s chest. Steve repositioned his arm to wrap around Tony’s shoulders. In that simple action, he felt both their tensions sink away. It left a gaping hole where  _ hope  _ should be, but Steve figured that a small price to pay for the rekindling of  _ love _ .

“How did it come to this?” Tony asked quietly, muttering against Steve’s chest.

Steve didn’t have an answer. He was wondering the same thing himself.

“Tony, I want you to know-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Rogers.”

Steve didn’t know what it was - Tony’s stern tone, or the use of his last name - but either way, he complied, shutting his mouth as he held his partner in his arms.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep that up for long.

“Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” he asked, Tony sighing deeply at the sound of his voice.

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but I do.”

Tony clicked his tongue, trying to find a way to answer.

“It might,” he finally decided on. “Actually, I’m pretty certain it will.”

“So how are you faring now, talking to me so simply?” Steve didn’t want to ask, but the man was surprising him with how calm, cool, and collected he was acting - oh. That was just it.  _ Acting _ . The glasses, refusing to speak….

“I thought you knew me.” Tony let out a humourless chuckle. “It’s a facade. It’s always a facade.”

The words hung heavy in the air as thoughts went to join them. How strong was the facade? What was behind it? And what would it take for it to crumble?

Voices arose from the hallway, making Tony bolt upright from his spot on the couch, Steve looking down in surprise at where he used to be, where his arm was now clutching air.

Tony rarely flinched away from physical contact anymore, if ever. No matter who entered the room, he never changed for them. He was always open about his relationship with Steve - so why wasn’t he now?

Rhodes stepped into the room, casting a quick glance at Steve before turning his attention to Tony, his expression one of a funeral-goer.

“Wanda’s here.”

Tony nodded curtly before turning back to Steve. Rhodes stepped back out of the room, probably to get Wanda. A timer went off in Steve’s mind, counting down the seconds until Tony’s opinion of him would be changed indefinitely. There were mere seconds left - precious seconds.

“Tony-” Steve reached out to grab Tony’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline as panic set in. Tony looked back at him, equally worried, but with extra unsurity. Oh, what Steve would give to make Tony look at him with pure  _ love  _ again - though, Steve understood. He knew why Tony wasn’t looking at him that way now, and why he might never again.

Steve tried in vain one last time to find  _ love  _ in Tony’s eyes - but before he knew it, Wanda was walking in, lips in a tight line as she diminished Steve’s last hope.

Tony averted his gaze immediately, standing from the couch to move towards the doorway where the rest of the group was crowded. Steve watched his retreating back, unable to keep the sadness from his expression as Tony readjusted the glasses on his face.

Wanda settled before him, and Steve felt his heart speed up. He refused to look at her, instead keeping eye contact with Tony, though unable to see the man’s eyes behind the dark shades. He looked anyways, Tony’s jaw firm as he returned the stare.

They watched each other as Wanda held her hands on either side of Steve’s head. They continued to stare as her eyes began to glow red. And when Steve lost consciousness, a single tear falling down Tony’s cheek was the last thing he saw.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve was dreaming. Or, he  _ thought  _ it was a dream.

He was standing in what looked like a warehouse, the stone ceiling ridden with pipes high above him. Metal echoed on metal somewhere off to his left, but it was the voice that got him to turn around.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers. Welcome back. I believe you have something for me?”

Steve turned and came face-to-face with Jasper Sitwell, the man grinning like a kid on Christmas when he caught sight of what Steve was holding in his hand - a toothbrush.  _ Peter’s _ toothbrush. Steve gripped it tighter under the man’s gaze, shivers running down his spine at the prospect of working with this man, this  _ criminal _ .

Steve wanted to listen to the warning bells going off in his mind and say  _ no, I have nothing for you _ , arrest this man, and walk out, taking the toothbrush with him. He knew how this story ended. He had  _ lived  _ it - and now he just wanted to change it.

He wordlessly handed over the toothbrush to Sitwell, his body doing actions without his consent, before it hit him. This wasn’t a dream - it was a  _ memory _ .

_ Is Wanda inside my head right now?  _ he thought suddenly, receiving an echoing,  _ Hi, Steve _ .

Oh. So, the answer was  _ yes _ , then.

_ Why am I aware during this? I wasn’t when you got into my head before _ , he said (thought?) as Sitwell chuckled when he took hold of the toothbrush, staring at it greedily.

_ Common courtesy _ , Wanda’s voice echoed in response.

_ Wanda, let me explain- _

_ Shh. I’m trying to listen. _

Steve went quiet just in time to hear himself say, “Just the results we discussed last time. If you try anything else, I’ll know. I’ll find you again, just as easily as I did last time - and this time, I won’t hesitate to call the authorities, deal or not.”

Sitwell laughed again, a chill settling in both memory and real Steve’s chests.

“Yes, I know, no more HYDRA activity. It’s a small price to pay for my freedom.”

Steve gave a sharp nod as Sitwell retreated into the shadows, and the scene faded to black, like a movie just ended in the theaters.

_ Deal?  _ Steve heard Wanda’s voice again.  _ What deal? _

_ Go further back _ , Steve responded, not wanting her to find out the answer, but also knowing he couldn’t hide anything from them anymore. It was all out in the open - or, at least, it would be soon.

The scene suddenly changed, and Steve recognized it instantly, the stone building covered in vines standing out boldly against the bright green trees. Real Steve’s heard beat dangerously hard against his chest as memory Steve approached the building, clutching the circular shield to his chest.

_ There’s something different _ , Wanda commented snarkily.  _ You’re in your costume this time. You weren’t before. _

Steve didn’t have the strength of mind to respond.

“ _ Remember, Captain, this is a low-level base. It should be easy. Take out the guys. Try not to kill anyone. We need people to invesitagte. We’re going radio silent to not distract you. Report as soon as they’re out. _ ” Steve recognized the voice coming through his earpiece as one of Fury’s assistants, hearing the static crackle from the earpiece as it disconnected. Breathing deeply, Steve waited a moment before approaching the building, shoving open the door to step into the dark room.

Real Steve watched it play out like a movie. If he had control of his body, he knew he’d be anxiously gnawing on his lip right now.

Memory Steve stepped into the room, easily taking out the three guards that rushed towards him. Low-level base, indeed.

Many battles and fights over the years gave Steve the ability to hit the guards enough to knock them out, but not enough to kill them, and they dropped like flies, allowing Steve to see what was behind them, what they were so dutifully guarding.

There was a large computer resting on a desk, the man sitting in front of it being Jasper Sitwell. His hands were raised, eyes surprised but controlled, like a poker player whose opponent had just laid down an unexpected card, but he himself still had a move.

Steve stalked towards him after scanning the room and seeing no one. Sitwell stood from the chair and stumbled back until he was pressed against the wall, and Steve pressed his shield to the man’s chest, keeping him from even breathing properly. Steve squinted his eyes at this pitiful excuse for a HYDRA agent.

“Jasper Sitwell,” Steve addressed the man, who nodded slightly in response.

“Steve Rogers.”

“You’re working with HYDRA.”

“It would seem so. But I don’t think you’d want to hand me over to your Avengers friends.”

“And why would that be?”

Steve waited for an answer, eyes narrowing. He wondered what excuse he’d be given this time. Many people had tried this technique with him when he was sent to infiltrate other bases. None had worked, and he doubted any would work in the future.

“Your kid’s Spider-Man, right?”

Except for maybe that.

“What do you know?” Steve demanded through gritted teeth, shoving the shield further against his chest. Sitwell began to choke as the vibranium pressed against his lungs, and Steve forced himself to retreat just enough to let the man breathe.

“It’s more about what you don’t,” he answered, still trying to be bold, even while his breath was being restricted. Steve glared at him, making sure the shield was still held firmly against his chest so he couldn’t move.

“You’re worried about his abilities,” Sitwell continued, staring up at Steve with a cocky smirk on his face. “You’re wondering what he  _ can  _ do. What he  _ can’t _ . You’re worried about his safety, but no one shares your concerns enough to test them out.”

“How do you know that?” Steve spat through gritted teeth, voice growing deeper with every word. Sitwell had the audacity to simply continue smiling, ignoring the question.

“I can help you.”

Suddenly, a voice rang out of Steve’s earpiece.

“ _ Captain, we’re back online. How’re things going in there? _ ”

Sitwell raised an eyebrow, close enough to hear the words. Steve stared at him, eyes hardening, debating his options, until Sitwell mouthed four words that made the decision for him.

_ I can save Peter _ .

Steve didn’t even think to question how the man knew Spider-Man’s true identity when he responded to the voice in his earpiece.

“There were three guards. All ready for retrieval.”

The smirk on Sitwell’s face made Steve want to punch him, but he held himself back, those four words repeating themselves in his head.  _ I can save Peter. I can save Peter _ .

“ _ Good job, Captain. We’ll be there in two minutes to collect them.” _ There was static, and the earpiece shut off again.

Steve shoved the shield away from Sitwell’s chest, glaring at the man as he caught his breath.

“Follow me.  _ Quickly _ ,” he ordered, leading the way out of the room. He had to get the man away before the Avengers found him. He had to save Peter.

_ I can save Peter. I can save Peter. _

Only now, two months too late, did Steve realize that was a lie.

The scene seemed to fast-forward until Steve was standing facing Sitwell in the woods, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“What do you mean, you can save Peter? How is he in danger?”

Sitwell just smirked. “You’re worried about the limits to his powers, how much he can take in a fight. I can get you those limits.”

“How?” Steve demanded sharply. He didn’t want to speak with this man any longer than he needed to.

“Just get me some DNA - a toothbrush, maybe - and some access to HYDRA’s materials to get the work done.”

Steve stared at him as he scoffed. “I’m not giving you access to HYDRA’s materials. How do I know you’ll do what you say you will? And, why are you even doing it, anyway?”

“Uh, I want to live,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Let me, and I’ll help you.”

Steve stared at him skeptically. “You don’t seem like a desperate man desparing for his life.”

“I’m a trained HYDRA operative. I’m used to hiding my emotions.”

Steve waited before responding, considering carefully. He knew this wasn’t right. There was something off. This man would end up betraying him, or something worse - but, then again, what could he do with a toothbrush?

“No, huh?” Sitwell scrunched up his face, staring at Steve with a taunting gaze. “Well then, I wonder how your Avenger friends will react when they realize you’ve even considered working with me.”

He started to turn away, but Steve lunged, gripping his arm tight. Sitwell turned back around, single eyebrow raised.

“Wait,” Steve muttered, closing his eyes as if ashamed by what he was about to do. “Fine. I’ll let you live, and I’ll give you the materials,  _ only _ -” he gritted his teeth as he glowered at Sitwell- “Only if you get me those specific results regarding Peter. Nothing else.”

“Why, of course,” Sitwell answered mockingly, and once again, the scene changed.

Now, Steve was standing back in the darkened cave, his hands in fists at his sides. Sitwell stood across from him, hands stuffed in his pockets, defying expression on his face.

“What do you mean it wasn’t enough?” Steve growled, glowering at the man.

“The information I need, I can’t simply get from a  _ toothbrush _ , Mr. Rogers,” he said calmly, despite Captain America towering over him.

“Then what do you need?” Steve already regretted the answer.

“Well,” Sitwell started slowly, “to get the proper results, we may need Peter himself.”

Steve narrowed his eyes as he stared at the man, challenging him to say something else.

“You  _ are  _ joking.”

“No.” Sitwell just shook his head. “These results are very extensive, and I’m afraid there’s just no other way to do it.”

“‘Just no other way,’” Steve growled, straightening his shoulders, making himself taller. Sitwell seemed unaffected. “Well, you better find one, or we’re not doing this anymore. I’ll call back the Avengers.”

“Yes, I believe you would. And would you tell them about how you’ve been making deals with me for the past week, stealing a wanted HYDRA agent from right under their noses and hiding him from them?”

Steve glared at the man, anger rising - though, he forced himself to calm, and spoke in deathly whispers.

“You are not getting Peter.”

Sitwell shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well, suit yourself. Should I continue trying to get answers from his toothbrush? Maybe if I work hard enough, I can discover what gender he is!”

Steve’s eyes bore into the man.

“Figure it out,” he muttered. “You are not, and never will be, getting Peter.”

The scene changed.

Steve was going for his morning jog when he spotted a certain man sitting on a nearby bench, watching him.

Steve hurried over, standing with his arms crossed over the man, staring down at him threateningly.

“So, you’re following me now?”

“Calm down, Rogers,” he answered, demeanor calm. “I come with a solution to your problem. A peace offering, of sorts.” Steve just stared at him, waiting. “I found a way to save Peter.”

Steve shifted his weight between feet, wondering what the solution could’ve possibly been. He didn’t want to trust this man.

“See, you wouldn’t willingly hand him over to me, but I can’t get the results any other way, so I took him.”

Steve’s eyes widened, clutching his hands into fists as he slowly uncrossed his arms.

“You…  _ what _ ?”

“Now, hear me out-”

“You  _ kidnapped  _ my child?” Steve lunged forwards, wrapping a hand around Sitwell’s upper arm and beginning to haul him to his feet.

“A man on your six o’clock has a gun trained on your back,” he said simply, unafraid of the man towering over him. Slowly, Steve turned to look behind him, but didn’t see anyone. Reluctantly, he released Sitwell’s arm, who readjusted his suit.

“Good,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just been threatened. “Now, we just need Peter for a day. After that, we’ll send you his coordinates, and you can come pick him up. Say it was a random kidnapping. Then, you’ll have the results you want.”

“And how do you know I won’t turn you in right now?” Steve seethed, wanting  _ so terribly  _ to punch this man in the face.

“We already discussed this,” Sitwell sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll say you asked me to do it. Plus, you’re getting what you want, anyway - the results. Just come pick him up in 24 hours and no one will know it was you.”

After no response, Sitwell turned to walk away, but Steve called him back suddenly.

“Wait.” He sighed deeply, squeezing his eyes shut as he considered the next words out of his mouth. “Please, just do one thing for me while you have him there.” Steve paused, waiting for a small nod from Sitwell. “Just… call him  _ sweetheart  _ or  _ sweetie  _ every so often, please? It’s my nickname for him. Maybe that’ll keep him calm.”

Steve hated this. He  _ hated  _ that he had to give up this nickname, the one thing linking him, and only him, to Peter - but he hated himself even more for giving Peter up. If this nickname provided Peter with even the  _ smallest _ sense of comfort, then he would give it to everyone in the world.

The scene faded to black.

_ What happened after 24 hours, Steve?  _ Wanda’s voice echoed in his mind.

_ He gave me the wrong address. _

_ And he kept doing that? _

_ Pretty much. _

It was quiet for a moment.

_ Alright, Steve, I’m going to bring you back now- _

_ Wait - Wanda, please, can you… could you knock me out while you tell them what you saw? Like - like you did to Peter. _

Wanda responded after a minute, quiet and comforting.

_ Of course, Steve. _

Then, her voice faded away, and Steve was left alone, swimming in the darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about Steve is revealed to the team. Peter misreads his relationship with Bucky.

Tony listened as Wanda explained to them what had happened; what Steve had done.

Well, he wasn’t really  _ listening  _ as much as he was  _ hearing _ .

And then waiting.

And then processing.

And then yelling.

It was a low, guttural sound that vibrated from his throat, eyes turning wild as they shot over to the man hunched on the couch behind Wanda. It was Steve, eyes closed, looking peaceful -  _ much  _ more peaceful than he deserved to be.

Tony began to stalk towards the man, hot anger like he had never felt before bubbling up inside his veins and threatening to boil over.  _ Steve  _ had done this? The Steve that Tony had developed such love for, the man he had trusted with all he had? Steve had fucking  _ kidnapped  _ Tony’s son and hidden him and tortured him until Tony had gone  _ insane _ ?

Yeah, he didn’t deserve to look that peaceful.

He didn’t deserve to be in Tony’s house.

Heck, he didn’t even deserve to  _ live _ .

Suddenly, a figure was stepping into Tony’s path, blocking Steve from view. Tony growled as his wild eyes rose up to meet Rhodey’s, his hands on Tony’s shoulders, holding him back.

“Tony, you need to calm down.”

“Let me go.”

“Not until you  _ calm. Down. _ ”

“I  _ am  _ fucking calm, Rhodes.”

“At least put the gauntlet away, Tony.”

Tony blinked, looking down at his hand in surprise. The red gauntlet gleamed back at him, repulsor glowing blue, ready to shoot. Tony didn’t even remember calling it.

For a moment, he considered hitting Rhodes with a non-lethal blow so he could get to Steve, but he thought better of it, disengaging it from his wrist and letting it fall to the floor. He stared back up at Rhodes, eyes beginning to water - but not because Tony was sad; no, because Tony was fucking  _ livid _ .

“You okay now?”

Tony couldn’t understand how Rhodes was staying so calm. It was  _ infuriating _ .

Tony shook his head, only looking at his best friend. He knew if he looked anywhere else, if he even  _ blinked _ , the anger would return, and he would do something he would regret. Well, not really  _ regret  _ \- the action would be very well deserved - he just knew the others would have trouble forgiving him afterwards, and that was something he couldn’t accept.

“I want to kill him, Rhodes,” he said honestly, voice a quiet whisper. His eyes were watering in the strain to keep them forced open, focused solely on his best friend. Rhodes stared back, eyes serious and unfaltering, even as he addressed the others.

“Someone get him out of here,” he called, hands gripping tighter on Tony’s shoulders. Tony felt people jump into action behind him, but he refused to turn, refused to look, even as a shiver went down his spine as they passed beside him.

There was movement, and then silence - but Tony had never heard his thoughts so damn  _ loud _ .

“Are you going to go chasing after him?” Rhodes asked seriously, and Tony was grateful he was taking this so seriously, because he himself sure as hell was. Tony was dead set on blowing a hole through Steve’s head. He would’ve done it, too - but no one could calm him down like Rhodey.

Tony thought for a moment, seriously considering, before shaking his head slowly. Rhodes released his shoulders with a final squeeze and took a step back, giving Tony the room to breathe, the room to  _ think  _ \- but he didn’t like the thoughts that rose to the surface.

The gauntlet twitched on the floor, and Rhodes immediately jumped down to pick it up and clutch it in his own hands. Tony stared at him, not sure whether to feel betrayed or grateful.

“Tones, is there some kind of locking mechanism for your suits? Something that restricts usage?”

Tony didn’t want to give him the lock. What if he needed the suit for something? What if he needed to defend the city, or protect Peter, or kill Steve-

Oh. That escalated quickly.

He gave Rhodes the instructions without another thought.

With a comforting pat on the shoulder, Rhodes hurried down to Tony’s lab to lock up the suits, leaving Tony to stare at a blank wall. His eyes drifted towards the couch, where Steve used to sat, and he just… stared.

It could of been hours, or mere seconds, later when he felt a new hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Bucky, the man’s eyes reading his face, though not thoroughly - just a light glance.

Looking behind him, Tony saw Wanda, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. She looked rather…  _ sad _ , while Bucky just looked hardened. Natasha and Sam were gone - they must’ve moved Steve.

_ Steve _ . Just the thought of him sent Tony’s thoughts into a rage. He fought to keep it down, swallow it though it burned his throat, and stared back up at Bucky.

“You didn’t want to go support your best bud?” he taunted sourly, but Bucky just looked disapproving.

“Do you know I hate  him as much as you do right now, Tony?” he said quietly, and Tony blinked in surprise, and confusion. “You know what HYDRA did to me,” he continued, and the more he spoke, the more Tony realized - he wasn’t calm. He was swallowing down anger, just like Tony. The strain could be heard in his voice, his fingers clenching tighter around Tony’s shoulder.

“Kill him with me,” Tony offered, only half-joking, and Bucky really looked like he was considering it, when Wanda stepped forward to stand closer to them, eyes finally rising from their spot on the ground.

“No one will be killing anyone.”

Tony’s eyes snapped down to her, practically glowing with fire. “He kidnapped my son and kept him from me,  _ witch _ . I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

Wanda’s eyes hardened at the nickname and her hands began to glow. Tony stepped forward, daring her to continue. This time, it was Bucky’s turn to interfere.

“Hold on, Tony,” he said quietly, laying a hand on his chest. Tony looked up at him, anger still evident in his eyes. “She’s right, we can’t  _ kill  _ him…” he sighed, “as much as we might want to.”

“Well, what the fuck  _ do  _ we do?”

Bucky shrugged. “Wait for Rhodes to come back. He seems to know what to do.”

Tony reluctantly took a step back, standing down. He couldn’t help but agree - Rhodey  _ did  _ always know what to do.

Tony moved back to sit on the couch, heels of his hands pressing against his eyes as he hunched forward, leaning on his knees. Not long after he felt the couch dip beside him, though he was positive it wasn’t Rhodes, and Wanda wouldn’t want to be sitting this close to him, so it must’ve been Bucky. Tony turned his head to stare up at the man, cheek now resting in his palm. Bucky stared back silently, and for a moment, neither said a word.

“Did you suspect it?” Tony asked quietly. He truly wasn’t sure how to act around Bucky. On the one hand, he had seemed pretty shaken up when the truth was revealed, and had jumped right on board with Tony’s murderous urges. On the other, he had been Roger’s best friend since they were kids.

Bucky was quick to shake his head. “‘Course not. I mean, I realized it  _ did  _ make a lot of sense when Natasha told me, but before that….” He sighed, rubbing his hands along his legs. “Trust me, Tony, I’m not defending him, not after this. This is….” He trailed off, shaking his head as he searched for the words.

“My best friend,” he continued, almost muttering to himself, eyes looking somewhere far away - a different time, maybe. “My best  _ fucking  _ friend. You think you know someone….”

When it didn’t seem like he was going to continue, Tony leaned back on the couch and let his head tilt back until he was staring up at the ceiling.  _ You think you know someone _ . Tony could definitely relate.

Steve had betrayed him. Saying Tony considered the man his enemy would be too kind of a word. If Tony ever saw Steve again, it would be too soon.

Though, there was also Bucky. Tony had always considered him to be a reserved presence, just following Steve around like a lost puppy, loyal to a fault. He had  _ never  _ expected Bucky to be reacting the way he was now.

Did Tony have a new friend?

Tony heard footsteps - but they weren’t Rhodey’s (and he should know). He looked up suddenly and saw Sam stepping into the room, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He moved to stand in front of and collapse on the couch beside Tony, barely sparing a glance at anyone in the room.

Tony watched in amusement as Sam’s leg began to bounce with anxiety, his jaw clenched as he gnawed on his tongue.

Though, all humour was forgotten when Tony realized why he was acting this way.

“Back so soon?” he asked, feeling that was the best way to voice the question he (and Bucky, he was sure) wanted to ask -  _ What was going on with Steve? _

“Natasha’s with him now,” Sam answered tersely, jaw clenched. “I controlled myself enough to escort him outside, but….” Sam sighed, turning his head to stare Tony dead in the eyes.

“Man, I was ready to punch him.”

Tony held his gaze, trying to convey a message of  _ Geez, me too _ , before turning back to stare straight ahead again.

The scene was a strange one, one rarely seen in the tower - Sam, Tony, and Bucky all sitting together on a couch, staring straight ahead, not even talking; just…  _ emoting _ .

Huh. Tony Stark, emoting. That was new.

“Where’s he going now?” Bucky asked Sam quietly, not moving from where he was resting stiffly against the back of the couch.

“Didn’t ask,” Sam growled, “didn’t care. Just made sure he understood he better not come back here. I think he got the message.”

Tony nodded, satisfied. “As thick as he is, he knows he’d be dead within seconds if he showed his face here again.”

The three turned to look at each other then, respect evident on each of their faces. That wasn’t usually a word used to describe the relationship between any of them, but crazier things have been happening these days.

Sam sighed, burying his head in his hands. “Man, guys, how’d this happen? How we  _ let  _ this happen?”

Bucky clenched his hand against his leg, joints along his metal arm creaking.

Judging by the murderous look in Tony’s eyes, Bucky was glad Rhodes walked in at that moment.  _ Very  _ glad.

“Alright, Tones, your suits are officially locked.”

Instant regret crossed Tony’s features, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why - he wanted to go after Steve. Heck, they all did.

Rhodes turned then to focus his attention solely on Tony.

“On my way up,” he continued gently, “I ran into Bruce. He said Peter’s waking up, if you’d like to see him.”

Tony’s face went slack, all hatred for Steve forgotten. He immediately stood from the couch without a word and hurried out of the room, Sam following close behind.

Bucky stood more slowly. He noticed Wanda still standing near the window in the corner, looking out at the horizon without seeing. He let her be as he moved to stand in front of Rhodes.

“Barnes.” Rhodes held his hand out, stopping Bucky from leaving the room. “You alright?”

Bucky turned his head to look at Rhodes, giving what he hoped was a genuinely happy smile and nodding quickly.

“Yeah,” he sighed, shifting his weight between feet. “I’m great.”

Rhodes didn’t believe him, that much was obvious - but he didn’t question Bucky. He just stepped aside, holding a hand out for the man to step in front of him. Together, they continued down to the med bay.

◊ ◊ ◊

When Bucky reached the med bay, Rhodes following close behind, the door that led to Peter’s room was wide open, revealing the scene inside.

Peter was sitting upright in the bed, back firmly against the headrest, eyes focused down on his lap. Tony was sitting in a chair to the right of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Sam was leaning against the far wall, watching Peter with - not a sad, but an  _ understanding  _ expression, as if he was far too familiar with the symptoms Peter was exhibiting. Bruce was working at the nearby desk, his back to Peter as he read information displayed over multiple sheets of paper. Bucky pretended not to notice how the man’s hands were shaking.

The moment he stepped into the room, everyone’s heads (Peter’s excluded) snapped up to stare at him, alerted by the sudden new presence. They were clearly all on edge.

Bruce offered him a small smile, Sam nodded in greeting, and Tony just… stared. Bucky tried to shake off the feeling that Tony was staring into his very  _ soul  _ as he stepped aside and let Rhodes enter after him, who moved forward to stand beside Tony, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“How’re you feeling, Peter?” Tony asked once he turned back to look at the boy, voice taking on a broken, strangled sort of noise. Peter didn’t answer - he just looked confused. With a jolt, Bucky realized he understood why.

On one hand, Peter had to obey all orders given to him, and a question sounded like an order to respond, to talk. On the other, Peter wasn’t supposed to talk; wasn’t  _ allowed  _ to.

And so, without thinking, Bucky told him so.

“You’re allowed to speak, Peter,” he called quietly from the corner of the room. Rhodes turned to give him a small smile. Tony didn’t move at all; though, Bucky  _ did  _ think he heard some kind of quiet, barely-there, disbelieving chuckle.

Peter’s eyes snapped up suddenly before he could think to stop them, and he stared at Bucky, unmoving. Bucky stared back.

There was something in the boy’s eyes, something Bucky could only identify as calculating, as if Bucky was a problem to be solved. To Peter’s eyes, Bucky believed he was.

After a moment, Peter’s eyes flitted back to his lap.

“I - I’m good, Sir.”

Bucky exhaled deeply in disbelief, heartbeat speeding up and eyes widening in pure  _ shock  _ as Tony whipped his head around to stare at Bucky - not in  _ hatred _ , as the man would’ve thought, but like he was the missing piece to the puzzle Peter had previously been trying to solve.

It was a wild connection to be made.

Bucky took a slow step forwards until he was hovering over Rhodes’ shoulder. Peter was still staring diligently down at his legs.

“Are you feeling better?” Tony tried to ask again, leaning forward, urging Peter to look up at him. Peter didn’t respond.

Tony looked down at his lap, sighing, before turning to look up at Bucky. His eyes were pleading as he nodded toward Peter. Bucky just stared back at him, unsure.

_ You want me to…. _ he tilted his head toward Peter as he mouthed the words, and Tony looked doubtful as he slowly nodded.

Sighing, but nodding in acceptance, Bucky took another step closer to the bed until he was standing at the foot of it, gnawing on his lip.

“Are… are you feeling better, Peter?” he asked gently. He doubted Peter would respond. Bucky wasn’t Peter’s guardian, and they hadn’t necessarily been close before-

Peter nodded.

Peter  _ nodded _ .

“Y-yes, Sir.”

Tony’s eyes went comically wide.

Bucky moved to step back, away from the bed. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He had no right to be there, not more than Tony. He had gotten Peter talking; now he could step aside and let Tony-

“Barnes,” Tony called suddenly, his eyes still focused on Peter’s bed. “Don’t-” He sighed, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes before turning in his chair to look at Bucky. “Would you stay, please? Just… talk to him.” He paused for a minute, seeming to think - then, he shook his head and stood from the chair, giving Bucky a look that said something like,  _ Don’t screw it up. _

“We’ll go,” he sighed, as if he didn’t really want to leave, and took a step closer to the door, stopping right in front of Bucky. “Please,” he muttered, frustration melting into something near begging, “help him. You seem to be the only one who can… for whatever reason.” He mumbled the last part under his breath, momentarily rolling his eyes up into his head.

Bucky paused for a moment. Was he really up for this? Could he really… did Peter really feel  _ comfortable  _ with him?  _ Why? _

He looked back at Tony. The man looked tired, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Peter was essentially trusting everyone  _ but  _ him, though Tony was is true guardian, his parent - his  _ dad _ .

Tentatively, Bucky lifted a hand and let it fall on Tony’s shoulder, worrying that the man would pull away - but, if anything, it was like he leaned  _ into  _ the touch. Man, he must be  _ exhausted. _

“Of course, Tony,” he said quietly, assuring. Tony started to turn away, but Bucky tightened his grip, holding him in place. “And, look….” He smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be okay.”

Tony’s eyes hardened and he shrugged Bucky’s hand off his shoulder suddenly before storming out the door. Bucky’s hand remained suspended in the air in shock as he watched Tony leave, narrowed eyes following his movement as he left.

“Hey.” Rhodes stepped forward, speaking quietly. Bucky let his hand fall to his side. “You gotta give him the benefit of the doubt. There’s a lot of…” He looked back at Peter behind him, before mouthing the word  _ shit _ back to Bucky, “going on right now.”

Bucky smiled slightly and nodded at the sentiment. Rhodes patted his shoulder as he stepped out the door, followed by Sam giving him a quick nod. Finally, Bruce walked past, eyes on the floor, which sucked - Bucky really wanted to thank him for all the ways he was helping Peter. He must’ve already understood, though.

The door finally clicked shut behind Bruce, and Bucky was left in the silence of the room with Peter Parker sitting stiffly on a bed not even eight feet away from him, eyes trained on his lap. Slowly, Bucky stepped forwards to sink into the seat Tony had previously occupied, all the while glad that he had dressed in a long sleeve shirt and gloves that morning.

Bucky sat quietly for a minute, eyes flickering between looking at Peter and at the bedsheets between them. It felt awkward looking at Peter when the boy wasn’t even looking back at him.

“Hi, Peter,” Bucky greeted, voice quiet. He forced himself to watch Peter. If he decided to look up, Bucky wanted to be ready to greet him.

It was a good choice.

Slowly, Peter lifted his head to make eye contact with Bucky, eyes looking closed off, with hints of  _ scared _ , but it  _ was  _ eye contact.

“Hello.”

Bucky tried to smile at the boy, to provide comfort, to tell him he was  _ safe _ , but none of that must’ve come across. Peter stayed frozen, watching him,  _ analyzing  _ him. Bucky wished he knew what was so puzzling about his presence.

“You, uh, you said you were feeling better.” Peter paused a moment before nodding slowly, and Bucky smiled even wider in response. He hoped his smiles looked encouraging, but honestly, he had no idea. He was a trained assassin. He had  _ murdered  _ before. He had received training for throwing knives, firing guns, and so much more, but not one lesson for how to take care of a tortured child.  _ (He was always the one doing the torturing.) _

Bucky paused for a moment, debating if he should really be saying what he was about to. Right now, he seemed to be the only person Peter trusted (for whatever reason) and he didn’t want to ruin that. On the other hand, what harm could it do?

He quietly cleared his throat.

“Hey, Peter, can I ask you a question?” he asked suddenly, and a look of confusion flashed across Peter’s face. “You can say no, if you’d like. Or you don’t have to answer, even.” Bucky shrugged, feeling awkward, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Peter continued to stare, and Bucky tried to stay as still and non-threatening as possible.

He figured Peter didn’t get asked many questions…  _ before _ , and if he did, the answers were probably never good ones. (Bucky had experience.) It made sense for Peter to be wary.

Slowly, carefully, Peter nodded again, eyes remaining fixed on Bucky. He noticed the boy’s muscles tense along his arms, and so he tried to voice his question in the simplest way possible - easy to understand, open-ended, no double meaning; nothing to upset Peter.

“I’d just like to know,” he began carefully, “why… why you trust me so much. Over, um, anyone else. Why do you answer my questions, and… well, yeah. Just stuff like that.” Peter’s eyes remained fixed on his face as he rushed to add, “And, again, you, uh, you don’t have to answer.”

And then Bucky stopped talking.

And then they stared at each other.

And then it was silent.

Both bodies were held perfectly still as they watched each other, Bucky waiting for an answer that he wasn’t even sure would come, and Peter looking like he was waiting for something to happen, something else to be said - though, Bucky didn’t add anything. He just sat quietly, glad (and also slightly worried) to see that the staring didn’t make Peter uncomfortable.

Then, slowly, barely above a whisper, Peter spoke up. “You have a metal arm.”

If it was possible, Bucky became even more still, back stiff and frozen in his chair.

He knew he couldn’t show Peter the arm. He had tried before, and it  _ had not  _ gone well. The images of Peter’s terrified face suddenly crowded his mind, a horrible reminder of what a monster Bucky had been made into, the monster he showed the world-

Wait.

Peter  _ remembered  _ the arm?

It wasn’t even currently  _ visible _ .

Peter remembered the arm, calmly stated it out in the open, and wasn’t… scared? At all? Did he remember seeing it before, the reaction he had to it? And what did Bucky’s arm have to do with why Peter trusted him, anyways?

Swallowing, hard, Bucky nodded quickly, once up and down. “I do.”

As if searching for it, Peter’s eyes began to drift down Bucky’s torso and onto his sleeved arms. His eyes seemed to linger over the left one, as if he knew that’s where the metal was. Bucky was tempted to take off his glove, roll up his sleeve - but if he scarred Peter more than he already was, Tony would surely kill him.

“Do you remember me showing you my arm before, Peter?” he asked carefully, wondering just how much he should expose. Peter nodded quickly, eyes still grazing over Bucky’s arms, as though if he looked hard enough, the metal would reveal itself. “And do you remember being scared by it?”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to Bucky’s with a strange intensity he couldn’t identify; though, Peter didn’t say a single word. He just stared.

Honestly, it was creeping Bucky out a little bit.

This wasn’t Peter. Bucky wasn’t the kid’s favourite person to be around, but they had spent some time together _before_ \- and even with those few memories, Bucky had come up with a clear image of a bright, smiling kid, always talking. He didn’t ignore, unless it was a little playful teenage rebellion. He was rarely meek or shy, if ever, and he _never_ glared.

Whoever  _ this  _ Peter was, they checked off all three of those boxes.

Nevertheless, if Bucky was being honest, he was really curious about how the kid was going to react, because something told him Peter wouldn’t shy away - not this time.

“Do you - do you want to see it again?”

Peter gave a sure nod and Bucky blinked a few times, slowly moving his right hand to pull off the glove on his left. He did it slowly, eyes watching Peter’s the entire time for any signs he should stop, back away, call Tony back in - but none were given.

Peter watched in  _ interest  _ as, first, the glove was removed. He stared at it for a moment, eyes widening in something near admiration - until he seemed to get bored of it. His eyes began to inch up Bucky’s arm, eventually flashing up to meet his eyes. Bucky watched him, debating.

“What are you thinking, Peter?” he asked slowly, not even remotely close to understanding what the  _ heck  _ was going on.

“I want to see it.”

“You want to see the whole arm?”

Peter nodded quickly. The drastic change from him being in the room with Tony before and only Bucky now was one Bucky couldn’t even fathom - and so, Bucky figured he could be a bit less gentle, a little more blunt.

“Why?”

But Peter didn’t answer. His eyes just moved back down to Bucky’s sleeve, still waiting for the rest of the machinery to be revealed.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to think. Was this really a good idea? Peter had been  _ terrified  _ to see the arm before, but now, he was what could only be described as  _ excited _ . Was this a sign he was back to normal, or a warning that something worse was afoot?

Clenching his teeth with worry, Bucky slowly continued to roll up his sleeve, revealing more and more of the metal - and with each extra joint that was revealed, Peter’s interest only seemed to grow, and grow, and grow, until he was actually  _ smiling _ .

It was small, and close-lipped, and one that hinted at gears turning and a plan at work in the young boy’s mind. In other words,  _ very  _ un-Peter-like.

When Bucky rolled his sleeve up as far as it could go, he turned his full attention back to Peter, watching as his eyes raked up and down the metal. The look in his eyes was getting dangerously close to  _ hunger  _ now, and Bucky figured he needed to stop it before it got too far.

Before he had the chance to, Peter spoke up, voice ringing out strong and clear and  _ confident _ . The sound of Peter’s voice coming out of a very un-Peter-like expression gave Bucky the chills.

He didn’t even move his gaze from the arm as he asked, “Is it strong?”

Bucky stared at him before answering with an unsure, “Yes….”

Peter nodded, as if this was perfect for whatever plan he was formulating.

“Good. Then you can use it to get us out of here.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned down, his own face interrupting the intense stare between Peter and his arm, forcing the boy to look him in the eyes.

“Get us out of where, Peter?”

Peter stared at him as if he were crazy.

“Get us out of  _ here _ . You know, escape our captors. I have to get back to… to….” Peter’s expression faltered as he tried to figure out what he was attempting to say. With a jolt, Bucky realized he was hinting towards Tony; but Tony being  _ here _ , with Peter thinking he was one of his captors, couldn’t have helped the confusion.

Peter shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Doesn’t matter. Look, you can break us out of here. Let’s  _ go _ .”

Clearly, Peter thought he was still trapped - though, that was expected with Wanda forcing him to relive his memories. Getting him to open up over the past couple of days must’ve encouraged this new  _ escaping  _ mindset, but…. Get  _ us  _ out of here. Escape  _ our  _ captors.

A sudden chill seeped into Bucky’s bones as a thought crossed his mind.

“Peter,” Bucky said quietly, heart speeding up with every second, “do you think….” He paused, and Peter watched him, wide, intense eyes sharp and waiting for the question. “Do you think  _ I  _ was captured, too? Do you think I’m trapped here with you?”

And, quick and without a doubt, Peter nodded.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sets out to make things right. Peter talks with Bucky, and the two realize the similarities between them.

Bucky excused himself and stepped out of the room as quickly as possible, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Peter stared at him in questioning from the bed, but let Bucky leave, eyes following him until the man shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

His hands were tucked behind him, one metal and one not, cushioning his backside against the hard wood of the door as Bucky stared at the opposite wall, eyes wide, just…  _ breathing _ . Breathing and thinking. Thinking and breathing.

Peter thought he was a  _ prisoner?  _ Why? What had caused him to think that? And more importantly, what was Bucky supposed to do about it?

Suddenly, there was the sound of quick footsteps. Bucky looked up sharply, on edge, and saw Tony hurrying towards him, Rhodes close behind. Tony looked frantic, wearing the impression of a madman, and Bucky had to force himself to stay still to keep from running in the opposite direction as he approached.

For a shorter-than-average man, Tony Stark could be terrifying.

“What happened?” he asked quickly, stopping short right in front of Bucky, but he didn’t give the man a chance to respond as Tony’s eyes found Bucky’s metal arm - his  _ uncovered  _ metal arm.

The man’s eyes widened, breath coming out short as his head shot back up to glare at Bucky - and Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch under the intense expression.

“You showed him the  _ arm? _ ” Tony whispered in a growl, practically spitting in Bucky’s face. Bucky was quick to raise his arms in surrender, more than aware of how Tony’s expression only seemed to harden at the sudden appearance of metal.

“Tony, listen-”

“Did you not learn?” Tony’s voice was getting louder with every word. Bucky realized he had to calm him quickly, or Peter would hear the man he thought to be his captor yelling outside his room-

It was a good thing Rhodes realized this, too. He quickly stepped forward, placing as arm on Tony’s shoulder, but the man shrugged him away.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Rhodes-”

“Tony, you need to-”

Suddenly Tony was turned around, his back to Bucky, arms raised as he shoved Rhodes away from him

The man stumbled, shock restricting his ability to stabilize himself. When he finally did, when his eyes finally met Tony’s, time seemed to slow down.

Bucky could see Rhodes’ expression, and not Tony’s, but the emotions displayed across Rhodes’ features were enough.

His wide, shocked eyes looked hardened, as if he was in judgemental disbelief. His shoulders were rising and falling heavily, and from behind Bucky could see Tony’s doing the same. Rhodes opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it shortly after and stared.

Then, he turned around and stormed off.

Tony watched after him, seeming to twitch, or tremble, and suddenly Bucky remembered his anxiety, and all the shit he had to endure through the years. Sure, it was awful, but he shouldn’t have shoved Rhodes.

And Tony knew.

As he breathed, Bucky could tell - Tony knew he had screwed up. His form was hunched over, and his head was angled downwards as he stared at his hands, his breaths only growing bigger. Bucky realized he should step in, lest this grow into some kind of panic attack; though, he didn’t believe he should. For all he knew, Tony would snap back to being livid as soon as this was all over.

Well, he was… half-right.

Tony turned slowly, eyes lacking some, but not all, of the anger they had previously held. Now, rather than looking downright murderous, he looked more… angstily dejected.

“You showed him your arm?” he repeated, continuing the conversation as if it had never ended. Now, at least, he was calmer, so Bucky could  _ try  _ to explain before he was killed - because, either way, Bucky was pretty sure he was dead. He’d just like the chance to explain himself first.

“Alright, Tony, listen, it’s….” Bucky trailed off. He wasn’t sure how he should say it, where he should start. Tony’s eyes were narrowed, glaring at him, but Bucky figured it was a good sign that Tony was at least hearing him out.

So Bucky pushed on.

“He thinks he’s still in captivity, Tony,” Bucky muttered, forcing his gaze to remain fixed on Tony, even as the man’s eyes turned hard and stormy once again. He forced himself to stare Tony dead in the eyes, because if he started to… to  _ react  _ in any way, Bucky wanted to be ready for it.

All Tony did was stare.

And stare some more.

His eyes seemed to flicker between growing sad, and angry - despairing, then downright murderous - but he wasn’t saying anything, so Bucky continued before it got too out of hand.

“And….” He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply then releasing it all at once. “He thinks I’m trapped here with him.”

Tony froze, his expression unreadable as his whole body seemed to turn to stone, eyes unblinking - but he wasn’t immediately getting mad, or reacting whatsoever.

Which led Bucky to infer he didn’t quite understand.

Bucky had to make him understand.

“Tony, he thinks I’m in captivity. He thinks I’m a victim, too.”

Bucky could almost see the alarm bells that went off in Tony’s mind at those words.

_ Captivity. Victim. _

_ Too. _

Tony’s eyes widened as they flashed to the door of Peter’s room, then to Bucky, and back to the door. He started to move towards it with an air of surety about him, shoulders held back, attention focused solely on the door. He was a man on a mission.

“Well then, let’s go change his mind.”

Bucky hated that he had to ruin that mission.

He placed a quick hand on Tony’s chest, holding him back before he could reach the door. Tony looked up at Bucky sharply, not accusatory, just questioning - well, a bit of both, really.

“Tony, think this through. He thinks you’re his captor right now.” Tony visibly flinched at the words, but Bucky wouldn’t stand down. It was important Tony understood this. “If you go in there suddenly, so shortly after he was talking with me about escape….”

Tony blinked before looking back down at the door. If he continued to fight to enter the room, Bucky would let him; he didn’t want to restrain the man from the one thing he held dear. However, by the sudden sadness and understanding that  crossed the man’s features, Bucky didn’t think Tony would.

Slowly, Tony took a step back until Bucky wasn’t touching him anymore, his eyes still fixed on the door. His whole demeanor seemed to deflate as the reality of the situation set in. Bucky watched it all, eyes sad. He hated to be the one to cause this, but, well… some things just had to be done.

“Okay,” Tony finally said quietly, turning his head so he was once again facing Bucky and nodding in acceptance. “Fine, I’ll just….” He shrugged, looking around aimlessly at his hands, at the floor, before whispering, “I have no idea what to do.”

With a start, Bucky realized this was a side of Tony Stark he had never seen before. Of course, the last two months had caused him to go into a panic. He had been a wreck, but that was understandable, and it was always kept under control by the constant reminder of  _ find Peter find Peter find Peter _ .

Now, though, it was just Tony, and Bucky. No shows. No games.

And Tony, the great Tony Stark, seemed to be falling apart.

In front of Bucky Barnes, no less.

“Tony.” Bucky called the man’s attention back to him, and he looked up quickly, last bits of hope fading from his eyes. “I can help him. If he thinks I’m… a  _ captive _ , if he believes we’re in the same boat, he… he’ll trust me, right?”

Tony’s eyes found his, and he nodded with uncertainty. Bucky was surprised in his ability to pick out exactly what the man was feeling.

“Look, I’m sorry it can’t be you,” he continued quietly, and Tony scoffed. “I really am, Tony, but you have to realize, we’re all here for the same mission. We’re all here to help Peter...” And then quietly, after his little monologue, he added, “... and you.”

Tony’s eyes softened. It seemed like Bucky had hit the nail on the head. Finally, he nodded slowly, staring at Bucky with an intense look of gratitude, and…  _ trust _ .

“Take care of him, Barnes,” he muttered finally, and Bucky was quick to nod. “Just bring my boy back to me.”

He turned and retreated back down the hallway without another thought. With a sigh and one last look after him, Bucky turned back around and re-entered Peter’s room, knowing he would try his absolute hardest to follow through on his promise.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve stood outside of the compound, staring up at it with wide, tearful eyes.

He knew he had to leave. He knew how essentially anyone would treat him if they caught him out here, Tony especially.

Suddenly, he thought of Bucky. What was his best friend doing right now? How did he feel about Steve - about what he had done? Did Steve even retain the right to call him “best friend”?

He stared up at a nearby  _ A _ plastered on a wall, one of many littered around the compound.

Was he still an Avenger? Did he still have that title? Did the others still accept him?

In his heart, Steve knew the answer to all these questions was “no.” He had screwed up. He knew that. Now, he just had to make things right. He just had to fix his mistakes.

He turned away, about to walk back to his car and drive and just keep driving, when he heard his name being called from behind him.

Steve turned suddenly, being met by the image of Wanda Maximoff heading down the pathway to meet him. He watched her warily, waiting for her to reach him.

Was she going to deliver a message? Chew him out?

Kill him?

Honestly, at this point, Steve wouldn’t fight it. He knew he deserved it.

Wanda stopped a few paces in front of him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke - they just stared at each other.

Finally, Wanda shoved her hands in her pockets and shifted her weight between feet. That simple movement seemed to break the barrier, and the atmosphere didn’t feel as tense anymore.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” she said simply, and Steve just cocked his head, continuing to stare.

“Maybe it’s because I actually saw inside your head first hand, and I got to relive your memories. Whatever it was, I don’t blame you. You saw something you thought you had to do, and you did it.”

Steve was filled with sudden emotion at those words. Was is relief? Gratitude? Guilt? Whatever it was, it caused his head to spin with how suddenly it had hit him.

“I….” Steve didn’t know what to say.  _ Thank you?  _ Or should he say something more honest, like,  _ You’re lying, I’m a monster, and deserve to die?  _ He settled for the first option.

Wanda nodded with a small smile in response.

“Where are you heading now?” she asked, nodding towards the parking lot Steve had been walking towards. He shrugged in response.

“Gonna go find Sitwell,” he confessed simply, looking nonchalant. “Maybe if I can bring him back, show Tony I got it right the second time….”

“He’ll forgive you,” Wanda finished for him. Steve just looked at her, unsure of how he felt to be analyzed so closely. Realizing she was the only one who could really stand to talk to him without killing him at the moment, he decided to let it go. He nodded, shuffling his feet on the ground.

“I’m coming with you.”

Steve looked up sharply, meeting her unflinching gaze.

“Why?”

Wanda scoffed, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the ground.

“I want to help,” she answered, a hint of snark behind her words. “Plus, everyone hates me here anyway - or, at least, Tony does. I’m not really welcome here, and I believe your story, so….” She trailed off, shrugging. “Why not, right?”

Steve nodded slightly, smiling. Wanda returned the expression.

“Well then,” he said, voice coming out stronger now that he had an ally, he had a  _ friend _ , “let’s go find this son of a bitch.”

◊ ◊ ◊

When Bucky stepped back into the room, Peter was sitting up stiffly on the bed, on high alert - but he instantly relaxed when he saw who it was. He stared at Bucky quizzically as the man shut the door behind him, turning to sit down on the bed beside Peter.

“What happened?” Peter asked quickly, his voice suddenly serious. “Did they see you? Did they punish you?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He hurried to turn towards the boy and shake his head vigorously.

“No! Goodness, no, Peter, they’d never… they’d never  _ punish  _ me.”

Peter looked up at him in confusion.

“What about the rules?”

Bucky’s heart seemed to jump into his throat. He swallowed his fear of the answer and asked, “What rules?”

Peter’s back suddenly stiffened as if controlled by a remote. He stared straight ahead, eyes hardening. Bucky thought he might’ve been possessed - and then he touched his left wrist and spoke in a voice very unlike his own.

“Rule One: no eye contact.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he watched Peter’s form move in a stiff, very unlike-Peter way.

Peter moved his hand to his left forearm.

“Rule Two: only sleep when told to.”

Bucky watched, confused, as Peter’s hand reached up to touch his neck.

“Rule Three: no trying to escape.”

Suddenly, he understood what was going on. Peter was being conditioned to act this way.

Peter then touched his right bicep.

“Rule Four: no emotion.”

He was being controlled.

Peter’s fingers brushed against his right forearm.

“Rule Five: no speaking or screaming unless reciting the rules.”

The rules had been implemented into his brain.

His hand moved to his left bicep.

“Rule Six: show respect.”

He had been forced to follow orders, to comply.

His hand brushed against his collarbones.

“Rule Seven: obey all commands and orders.”

Trained to be nothing more than these rules.

Peter’s hand touched his right wrist.

“Rule Eight: only act if told to.”

Forget who you were -

His hand moved up to his left temple.

“Rule Nine: receive all punishment without complaint.”

This is who you have become.

Peter touched his right temple.

“Rule Ten: punish yourself if we are not around to.”

Peter finally stopped. His shoulders caved in slightly, and he turned to look at Bucky, as if in approval. Bucky stared back, eyes sad, unblinking, thinking back to his  _ own  _ training, his  _ own  _ compliance.

It was all too real.

“Peter,” he whispered, voice understandingly compassionate, “who taught you those rules?”

Peter stared back as if nothing was wrong, as if a fifteen-year-old boy being taught these things was  _ normal _ . “Our captors. Don’t you remember? You learned them, too.”

Bucky’s back stiffened, wheels turning in his brain, trying to comprehend. He fought hard to keep the confusion off his face.

_ Our captors. _

_ You learned them, too. _

So, Peter didn’t remember being rescued  _ at all _ . Wanda’s reading his mind had confused his memories, the audio of his past situation being layered over the visual of his current. Peter had thought  _ Tony  _ had taught him those rules, meaning he also thought  _ Tony  _ had experimented on him, beaten him,  _ tortured  _ him - and he thought that Bucky had been there the whole time.

Holy shit.

Bucky forced himself to remain calm, closing his eyes and breathing deeply once, twice. Finally, he opened his eyes and gave Peter what he hoped was a comforting smile.

One thing at a time.

“Can you tell me about those rules, Peter? Why did you touch the different areas of your body when you… repeated them?”

Peter stared at Bucky for a moment, debating, before he explained.

“That was where they would punish me for disobeying,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Anywhere on my arms, they would cut me. See how deep they could go, how much blood they could draw out.”

His voice was flat as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scars to Bucky, who had to slam his fist against his mouth to keep a sob from ripping through.

Peter was being so…  _ calm  _ about this, like this was  _ normal _ . Like this was how everything should be.

Like this was how it always was.

Bucky blinked a few times, swallowing heavily. “And, uh-” he cleared his throat. “What about, um, your temples?”

Bucky hadn’t seen any scars on Peter’s temples.

_ Maybe he just hadn’t broken that rule _ , Bucky tried to reason - but he knew the real answer was a lot worse.

Peter answered in a single word, in such a simple voice that made it seem like everything was okay - but really, it made Bucky’s heart skip a beat, his vision seeming to spin.

“Electroshock.”

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

He rested his elbows on his knees, and let his head fall into his hands, trying to desperately force air in and out of his lungs.

_ Electroshock. _

Suddenly, he was back in that HYDRA base, scientists pushing his shoulders back against the chair, machine being lowered on either side of his head, shocks racing through his body-

Bucky fell to the floor, hands on either side of his head, knees pushed up into his chest. The horrors of seven decades in that wretched underground maze of terrors and nightmares were all too real in his mind as he lay, shaking, on the floor, echoes of shouts and screams of orders and commands and pleads and victims and-

“Hey. Hey, Sir!” Suddenly there was a presence at his side, hands shaking his shoulder, screaming in his ear. Bucky shook his head.

Too loud,  _ too loud _ , not going back-

“Hey, Mister, you - you gotta get up, come on, come back - come back, Sir-”

Suddenly, Bucky’s vision cleared, the violent downpour of thoughts and memories and noises and sights fading into the background as he focused on the big, brown eyes on top of him.

He took a moment to breathe, wide eyes taking in sights that were no longer tainted in blood, sounds that were no longer pleads for mercy, not even registering how Peter had called him  _ Sir  _ and  _ Mister _ rather than his name. (Did Peter even remember it?) Finally, when his heart was no longer pounding in his throat, blood no longer rushing in his ears, he refocused on Peter, hovering above him.

_ Peter  _ was comforting him? The Peter who had just explained how he had been tortured and traumatized for months was comforting  _ him? _

Peter must’ve taken his embarrassment for something else, because he immediately stepped away from Bucky and held his hands up beside his head, as if in surrender.

“Don’t worry, Sir, I won’t punish you for breaking Rule Four.” Bucky sat up hastily, staring at him, and Peter just took another step back - but not for his own benefit, it seemed; for Bucky’s. “I won’t tell them you broke it, either, I swear.”

It took a moment for Bucky to find his voice, throat suddenly dry.

“I wouldn’t - I wasn’t thinking you would, kid.”

Peter nodded slowly, lowering his arms and moving closer to Bucky, bringing himself to sit on the floor beside the man. Bucky watched him, awed at the action, at the sympathy and understanding and pure  _ innocence  _ the boy still seemed to hold, even after everything he had gone through.

“That had happened to me before,” he said quietly, staring straight ahead. Bucky kept his eyes focused on Peter, worry overcoming him.

Peter had panic attacks? Peter had felt the walls closing in, sounds and sights becoming everything all at once as his brain was overcome with thoughts and… and memories?

Peter didn’t even seem bothered by what he was saying as he continued.

“They saw it, though. It was during my first week after they took me, and they were just beginning to strap me to the table, and it…  _ happened _ .” He paused for a minute, taking a shaky breath, and Bucky let himself lean closer against Peter’s side, showing support.

If Peter was ready to show emotion, ready to break down his walls and  _ feel  _ and truly behave like the abused child he kept trying to bury inside, Bucky wasn’t going to stop him.

“It was the first time my punishments had really....  _ escalated _ ,” he continued, sniffling quietly. “Before that they had just given me little nicks. Not more than a papercut, really, but this time, they - they took out their knife and-”

Peter cut himself off suddenly, forcing his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. Bucky gently placed his hand over Peter’s and pulled it away from his mouth, giving him a gentle smile. Peter let him.

“You don’t have to hide that, Peter,” he whispered, smiling down at him as the boy continued to sob, wide eyes looking up at him, pleading for something Bucky wasn’t sure he could give - the reassurance that everything would be okay.

If only Bucky could make him understand.

“You can cry, Peter, you’re allowed to cry,” Bucky tried again, but Peter just shook his head wildly, seeming to choke on his sobs.

“R-Rule Four and F-Five,” he sobbed. “N-no emotion or s-sound.”

Bucky’s chest ached, and he wrapped an arm around Peter’s back. The boy immediately collapsed against his side, and Bucky wondered how he had gotten here - from a brainwashed assassin, to comforting a crying child.

What a strange world.

“Peter, do you trust me?” he asked quietly, and Peter nodded almost immediately. Bucky smiled softly at first, until he realized that Peter barely knew him. If he was trusting  _ anyone _ , it should be Tony. How low had his standards become?

Well, it didn’t matter now. This was actually working in Bucky’s favour.

“I’m going to tell you something, okay? And I need you to believe me. Can you do that?”

Peter hesitated for a moment before nodding his head, heavy breaths becoming more like sobs the longer he waited. Bucky just clutched him tighter, wishing to protect him from everything, knowing better than most what Peter was going through right now.

“Peter, the people who you were with, and the people you’re with now… they’re different people.”

Peter shook his head almost instantly.

“Yes, Peter,  _ yes _ , it’s true. The people you were with before, they did bad things to you, okay? They taught you the rules and punished you for breaking them.” Peter’s walls were down now, and he flinched at the definite way Bucky said it. The man felt bad, but he couldn’t stop now.

“About two days ago, Peter, you were rescued by the people you’re with now. These people are  _ different _ , okay? They’re safe, I promise you.”

Peter’s heavy breaths seemed to subside from beside Bucky, and he slowly pushed himself to sit up so he could stare Bucky in the eyes.

“How do you know?” he whispered, so much brittle hope in his voice Bucky was terrified he would say the wrong thing and break it all apart. Unfortunately, he thought that was what he had to do.

“Peter, I’m not a captive with you. I’m not a victim.” Peter’s eyes grew wide, his back stiffening as he stared at Bucky with wide eyes. “I’m one of the people who rescued you.”

Peter began to tremble, shoulders shaking as his chest heaved with the trouble of breathing. He stared at Bucky, his eyes never once losing contact, and Bucky stared back. He tried to angle his arm behind him, tried to hunch his shoulders to look as non-threatening as possible, but Peter was so focused on his face Bucky didn’t even think it mattered.

“You lied to me?” His whispered words seemed like more than just his voice. They were coming from deep within his soul, bringing forward all the hope and raw emotion he had been hiding inside, just to say those four words.

Bucky was quick to shake his head.

“Peter, I just wanted you to feel safe. If you felt like you were a captive, I wanted to make you comfortable, and think I was one, too - but you’re  _ not _ , Peter! You’re not being held captive here!”

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he was desperate not to hear these words - as if he was so deep-rooted in his beliefs, everything else was unimportant, untrue. Bucky wouldn’t let him believe that, not anymore.

“Peter, you are  _ safe _ ,” he continued, allowing his voice to grow until it was a normal speaking tone now, although it still felt loud for the usually somber room. “You are safe, and you are with your Dad, and your Po-  _ friends _ ,” he corrected quickly, determined to keep  _ Steve _ out of it. Peter didn’t need that right now.

“You are  _ not  _ a captive. You are Peter Parker. You are  _ safe _ .” Bucky repeated the words like a mantra, slowly inching towards the boy who still had his hands firmly held on either side of his head.

“You are  _ not  _ a captive,” he repeated, his voice strengthening with every word. “You are Peter Parker.” He moved even closer toward Peter, whose shaking head was constant. “You are  _ safe _ .” He was kneeling in front of Peter now, leaning forward, urging Peter to open his eyes, to  _ see  _ him.

“You are  _ not  _ a captive.”

He placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“You are Peter Parker.”

Peter’s wide eyes flew open, staring directly at Bucky.

“You are safe.”

For a single moment, everything seemed to pause. The world went quiet, suspended in space.

All at once, Peter collapsed, flying forward into Bucky’s arms, who caught him effortlessly and held him close. Peter began to sob against Bucky’s neck as he knelt on the floor, Bucky rubbing his hand in circles along his back, trying his hardest to calm him down, to get him to understand.

Peter stopped his crying just long enough to say one word.

“Bucky.”

And Bucky knew immediately he had succeeded.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter grows closer to Bucky as Bucky slowly reintroduces him to life at the compound.

Peter felt… relieved. Like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

The fog had cleared, the deafening sounds had faded, and the Earth had resettled in its orbit.

As Bucky clutched Peter to his chest, Peter felt  _ safe _ , safer than he had felt in a long, long time.

He had forgotten how it felt to feel safe.

It felt  _ good _ .

Though, as good as it felt, there was something nagging at the back of Peter’s mind, something he couldn’t shake out no matter how tightly Bucky held him - something that had been engraved in the fibres of his mind, like a warning bell ringing on repeat.

_ RuleEightRuleEightRuleEightRuleEight- _

Peter’s right wrist began to throb as he pushed himself back and away from Bucky suddenly, heartbeat loud in his ears. His wide and frantic eyes found Bucky’s, whose expression was mirroring his own, except Bucky’s hands were raised in a sort-of  _ surrendering  _ gesture. He watched Peter, eyes wide, waiting for an answer.

“R-Rule Eight,” Peter whispered sharply, trembling in trepidation.

Bucky watched Peter as the boy continued to shake, fear evident in his wide eyes. He tried to wrack his brain for  _ Rule Eight  _ \- was that no speaking, or obey commands? Bucky couldn’t remember. Though, what he  _ did  _ know was that nothing was going to happen to Peter. He wouldn’t let it.

“Peter, please,” he said quietly, forcing his features to soften with his voice, hands lowering slightly, “I don’t know what you’re scared of, but I promise you it won’t happen. Not here.”

Peter watched him warily, eyes brimming with tears. He looked…  _ scared _ , Bucky thought - but, scared of what? Scared of the punishment, or scared of the hope?

Peter spoke slowly, quietly, as if he was scared of being heard, of being stopped.

“No…” He seemed to choke on his words. “No punishment?”

Bucky was quick to shake his head, smiling slightly in what he hoped was a comforting way.

“No punishment, Peter, I swear.”

Peter still looked hesitant, but he did begin to subconsciously lean closer to Bucky.

“Do you remember what we were just talking about, Peter?” Bucky tried to soothe Peter, but it only seemed to agitate him further. Peter stiffened suddenly and his eyes narrowed, as if he was deep in thought.

Bucky caught on immediately. “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t remember, Peter, I can remind you.” Peter deflated and looked toward Bucky, eyes looking almost…  _ scared _ . The truth of Peter’s fear hit Bucky like a wave.

_ What’s he expecting me to tell him? _

“Do you remember me telling you that you are safe, Peter?” Peter was breathing heavily, eyes wide. “You are Peter Parker, and you are  _ not  _ a captive.”

Peter looked so… so  _ small _ . So weak and frail, like the wrong words, even the wrong look in his direction, would break him.

“R-Really?” His voice sounded just as small as Peter was making himself appear.

Bucky nodded slowly, assuring. “Of course, Peter. You are here. You are rescued, and you are safe.”

Peter sighed deeply, slowly beginning to detangle his arms from where they were clutched against his chest and push himself up to his knees. He never took his eyes off of Bucky, and continued to stare, as if he expected Bucky to turn on him at any moment.

“Do you believe me, Peter?”

Bucky waited for a moment, watching Peter for any traces of unsurity, any hesitations of fear - though, all the boy did was slowly inch closer to Bucky, shoulders slightly relaxing as he reached the older man’s side.

“I - I think I do.”

Bucky wanted to say something, to smile and reach out for Peter, but there was something holding him back. There was something more Peter wanted to say.

The boy twisted his hands in his lap and focused his attention solely on them. Bucky waited patiently for him to speak.

“C-Can I….” he began slowly, before cutting himself off by biting on his lip. Bucky wanted to stop him and tell him not to hurt himself, but Peter was actually  _ talking _ . He wasn’t going to stop Peter now.

“Can I go see my dads?”

Bucky hesitated. He stared at Peter, eyes so full of hope that he found it hard to say no - because he had to, right? Peter acted like he was better, but Bucky had seen firsthand how quickly the kid’s attitude could change, how drastically he could revert to his old ways, to how he was trained to react.

But who was Bucky to deny Peter his dads -  _ dad _ , he corrected himself. He wasn’t letting Peter anywhere near Steve. Not again.

Bucky regarded Peter for a few more seconds, taking in every part of the kid’s hopeful, begging expression, before finally caving and nodding slightly. Peter’s smile seemed to grow instantly.

“I’m not going to keep you from your dad, kid-” Bucky prayed Peter wouldn’t catch on to the singular tense- “but I just want to make sure you’re really okay.” He paused for a moment, staring earnestly at Peter. “Are you okay?”

Peter’s eyes were wide as he stared back at Bucky, looking scared and… unsure. For a moment Bucky wondered if this was  _ really  _ the right decision, letting Peter see Tony when he believed the man had been his kidnapper for the last few months - but then Peter gave a shaky nod, and Bucky realized he didn’t have a choice.

“Okay,” Bucky finally sighed, standing from his position on the ground and waiting for Peter to do the same. The boy pushed himself up onto shaky legs before staring up at Bucky, and it seemed as if, for a moment, the two were going through the same thing, preparing for an action that could go horribly wrong, or perfectly right - but then Bucky took a step towards the door and held it open, letting Peter step out first.

Peter hesitated. He looked between the open doorway and Bucky’s hand placed firmly on the knob, eyes seeming conflicted. He sighed heavily and took a shaky step towards the door, when Bucky held out a steady hand, stopping him.

“Peter,” he said softly, calling the boy’s attention up to him. “Part of being  _ okay  _ means admitting when something’s wrong, right?” Peter nodded quickly, eyebrows raised under the premise of innocence and honesty - but Bucky didn’t believe it for a second.

“Is something wrong, Peter?”

Peter looked almost  _ scared  _ as he opened and closed his mouth, searching for the words. Eventually, he found them, looking down at his anxiously-shuffling feet.

“Can you walk ahead of me?” The words were quiet, unsure, and Bucky thought he might’ve heard traces of tears in there. He smiled softly at the sound of Peter’s voice, at the sound of Peter admitting something was wrong and saying what he meant. The road to recovery was a long one, but it was one that they had started on.

“Of course, Peter,” Bucky answered, equally quiet. “Remember that you can always say when something’s wrong, right?”

Peter nodded, but his head was still down. Bucky sighed quietly as he cocked his head and stared at the tops of Peter’s curls.

“Peter, look at me, please.” Peter complied. “You can always say when something’s wrong. You have the right to say no.” Peter nodded again. “Now say it back to me.”

Peter hesitated for a moment, as if seeing how the words felt in his mouth, before repeating with a trembling voice, “I have the right to say no.”

Bucky smiled encouragingly. “And again.”

“I have the right to say no.”

“One more time.”

“I have the right to say no.”

And Bucky finally felt like Peter was beginning to believe it.

◊ ◊ ◊

Bucky led Peter through the hallway and into the kitchen. It was the closest room, and he figured if he were to find anyone, they would be there - of course, he hoped he would find Tony first. He didn’t want Peter to come across anyone else before he was ready to.

But when did Bucky ever get what he wanted?

As soon as he stepped into the room, Bucky almost stopped in his tracks. Peter was behind him. He didn’t see who was in the room - Bucky could still turn back before Peter had a chance to notice - but when Bruce looked up from where he was drumming his fingers on his coffee cup as he leaned against the counter, Bucky realized it was too late.

Instead, Bucky turned around and dropped himself down to one knee so he was looking up at Peter, the boy fiddling with his hands in his lap. He was looking down the floor as if he was afraid to make eye contact, but his face was scrunched in discomfort. Finally, he shot his head up in a jerking motion to stare Bucky in the eyes, and Bucky realized Peter was fighting every instinct he had to hide, submit, obey. He was fighting to do something as simple as to make  _ eye contact _ .

“Hey, Peter.” He smiled, and his heart fluttered when he saw the ghost of a smile flicker across Peter’s face. It was barely visible, but it was there. Peter was  _ trying _ . And maybe that was enough. “Do you remember what we discussed earlier?”

Peter looked confused for a moment, eyes widening as he hurried to remember. Bucky wanted to slap himself. They had  _ just  _ gone through this. He had just made this exact same mistake, and now he had screwed up  _ again _ .

“Shh, Peter, I’ll remind you, okay?” he said quietly, and Peter’s panic seemed to halt, at least momentarily. “You have the right to say no. Anything bothers you, you tell me, or anyone you’re comfortable with, or you just walk away, right?” Peter took a shaky breath, nodding quickly. “Good. Now say it back to me.”

Peter hesitated, gauging Bucky’s reaction, until he said the golden words.

“I have the right to say no.”

Bucky smiled and nodded encouragingly before standing and leading the way into the kitchen.

◊ ◊ ◊

Bruce looked up, startled, drumming fingers falling still with a faint  _ click  _ against his coffee cup as he heard footsteps getting closer to the kitchen. They were coming from the direction of the med bay - there were no other rooms down that hallway they could be coming from - and everyone had left that room.

Well, everyone except Bucky and Peter.

Had Bucky left Peter alone, or could Peter actually be….

Bruce’s thoughts were brought to a halt when Bucky stepped into the room and immediately froze. Bruce stiffened from where he had previously been leaning against the kitchen island, watching the man as he spun on his heel to kneel on the ground, facing something around the corner Bruce couldn’t see. He was about to take a step closer to investigate when he heard a few quiet words.

Well, he only really heard two words. The shock kind of caused him to zone out after that.

“ _ Hey, Peter _ .”

Peter?  _ Peter  _ Peter? The Peter that had been terrified to make eye contact with anyone, that had thrown a fit when Tony got too close, was now casually strolling the halls with the  _ Winter Soldier? _

Bruce’s thoughts fell silent when Bucky stepped back into the room, his eyes immediately flying to the small body that followed him in.

Peter Parker’s hands were clasped tightly together in front of his waist, fiddling madly. Bruce was surprised his fingers didn’t fall off or break with how violently Peter was twisting them, tugging on them. His usually light, bouncy curls were flat on his head, greasy and in knots. His eyes, his usually bright eyes that shone with the light of a thousand stars, were staring dutifully at the ground, tainted red.

It physically pained Bruce to see him so… so  _ broken _ .

But he was  _ out _ . He was walking around. He was trusting Bucky. He was trusting  _ in general _ .

That had to count for something, right?

Bruce didn’t move. Honestly, he was scared to. He didn’t know where Peter was in his recovery. He didn’t understand what would set him off, or even why Peter was coming to him now. The only one who understood Peter best was Bucky Barnes - and that was a really funny thought.

Slowly, as Bruce watched, Bucky dropped to a knee beside Peter, staring at him with an expression Bucky had rarely before seen on the man. An expression of protectiveness. Safety.  _ Home _ .

“Peter,” Bruce heard him say - but he was talking so quietly, Bruce almost missed it. “Bruce is here. It’s just us three - you, me, and him. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you - but only if you want to, of course.”

Bruce stood, stiff as a statue, as he awaited Peter’s response. Half of him didn’t even expect to hear one. He figured that they could wait here for hours and Peter wouldn’t say a word - because, as much as it pained Bruce to think it, that was what Peter was  _ trained  _ to do. He was  _ trained _ to be quiet, and obedient - to be nothing more than a  _ thing _ .

Which is why he was so surprised when Peter looked up with minimal effort to stare Bucky in the eyes.

Bruce’s heartbeat quickened in his chest. Holy shit, holy shit,  _ holy shit _ -

Peter was responding. He was  _ answering _ . Understanding, and acting on it. Acting of his own accord.

Peter - Peter was  _ healing _ .

Then, Peter did something that Bruce wasn’t sure whether it gave him hope, or shook him to his core. Peter whispered out one word.

“Safe?”

Bruce anxiously awaited Bucky’s reaction.  _ Was  _ he safe? He could turn into an big, green rage monster at any minute. He wasn’t equipped to deal with a child, nevermind one who had been through as much as Peter had. It wasn’t too late for Bucky to turn around and go find Tony instead-

“Yeah,” Bucky answered simply, and Bruce sighed heavily with relief and the release of trepidation he wasn’t even aware he was feeling. “Yes, Peter, Bruce is very safe. He would never hurt you.”

Slowly, Peter nodded and turned away from Bucky - turned  _ towards  _ Bruce. His head was tilted downwards, but his eyes were constantly fluttering up, like he wanted to look at Bruce but something was holding him back. Then, after a moment of silence, he forced his head up, eyes wide…

… and Bruce finally got to see his face.

Behind the matted hair, fiddling fingers, and blotchy expression, Bruce saw  _ Peter _ . There were traces of him in the way he shuffled his feet, like before when he was preparing for a test, and in the light brown of his hair that always flopped down in his face, but it was most evident in his eyes.

They were the beautifully brown eyes that held a glint of innocence, and even some mischief, behind the horrors and restriction. There wasn’t a lot, but it was still there.  _ Peter  _ was still there.

Noticing Bucky was still on the ground, Bruce realized he should be doing the same. Feeling uncomfortable, he roughly dropped to the ground, using a hand to steady himself, before looking back at Peter.

The boy was watching him, almost curiously - but it wasn’t curiosity, Bruce realized with a pang in his chest. No, it was  _ fear _ . Peter was  _ scared  _ of him.

_ No _ , Bruce decided suddenly.  _ No, I won’t let this happen. I won’t let him be scared of me. Forget the Hulk. Forget the fact that no one had invited me to see Peter until they needed help. I will prove them wrong. I will prove I can be better. _

_ I will be better for Peter. _

“Hey, buddy,” Bruce said quietly, hands resting on his thighs, palms up, beckoning. “You remember me, right?”

Peter nodded, but it was sudden and sharp, as if he was fighting someone to be able to do it.

“U-Uncle Bruce.”

“Yeah.” Bruce felt a smile break out across his face as he chuckled quietly. “Yeah, Peter, it’s me. I’m here.”

Peter nodded as if this was a fact that had just been confirmed, features remaining still as stone. Bruce didn’t make any action to move forward, and neither did Peter. By this point Bucky had faded somewhere into the background, letting Bruce take the lead - but no one was doing anything.

_ Was it my fault?  _ Bruce thought suddenly, overcome with guilt.  _ Did I say something wrong? I tried to be as neutral as possible- _

Peter’s sudden speaking cut him off.

“I don’t know why I feel so… so  _ scared _ ,” he whispered, voice broken. “I know I can - I can trust you, but something in me tells me I  _ can’t _ .”

Peter began to tremble slightly, body shaking with all the anxiety that was threatening to boil over. Bruce had to calm him down,  _ now _ , before Peter got too anxious. He didn’t want to freak the kid out more than he already was.

“That’s okay, Peter,” Bruce said quickly, hands held up in a surrendering gesture. “That’s completely okay. I understand. You… you take your time, okay? We’ll always be here for you.”

Tears began to trail down Peter’s cheeks as his wide, trusting eyes stared devotedly at Bruce - so trusting, Bruce promised himself right then that he would always be there for Peter. He would help Peter to heal, whatever it took.

“C - Can I….” Peter’s voice was trembling. He took a shaky breath, staring right at Bruce - with difficulty, it seemed. “Can I come closer to you?”

Bruce’s eyes widened in shock. He hurried to stutter out an answer before Peter got self-conscious.

“Yeah, Peter, of course. You - you don’t have to ask.”

Peter nodded, but didn’t move. He just kept staring at Bruce. Bruce wanted to ask what was going on, but he figured it was better if he didn’t. He didn’t want to risk scaring Peter away.

Then, slowly, so slow Bruce almost missed it, Peter began to shuffle forward. His feet didn’t even leave the ground as he slid forward, and he kept gaining ground, inches at a time, as he crept closer.

His eyes were trained on the ground, nervously flicking up to Bruce every few steps - but each time he looked up, Bruce made sure his face was one of support and whole-hearted care, even love.

Call him selfish, but that’s what Bruce chose to believe kept the kid moving.

Finally, Peter looked up from his feet when he was half of a step away from Bruce. He was now towering over the man, Bruce resting back on his heels. He wanted to look as least threatening as possible - and it seemed to work, because suddenly Peter was  _ smiling _ .

“Thank you, Uncle Bruce,” he said quietly, tears forming in his eyes - and Bruce was sure he was shedding some of his own, too.

“Anytime, Pete,” he whispered through a smile, meaning exactly what he said.

Suddenly, Peter began to lift his arms from his sides, until they were hovering in midair near his waist. He looked down at Bruce, unsure.

“Can I… Can I hug you?”

Bruce’s chest filled with emotion - pride, care,  _ love _ \- and he nodded quickly, opening his own arms for Peter to lean into - and the boy did.

Peter began to lean slightly forward, until all at once, he collapsed, falling to his knees just in front of Bruce, who caught him with ease and lowered him to the floor. Peter leaned into Bruce’s shoulder, sobbing.

As Peter fell into the arms of his Uncle, he once again felt that feeling -  _ safety _ . Safety, and security. Everything he had been missing for the last few months, he had found in the arms of his Uncle Bruce. All the love and familiarity he had been  _ craving  _ had suddenly fell into his lap - or, more literally,  _ he  _ had fell into  _ its  _ arms.

Whatever he was feeling, he was grateful. He was so, positively grateful to have found that again, and he wasn’t going to let it go. He refused to.

So, Peter held tighter.

He clutched onto Bruce like Bruce was the whole world, because, in a sense, he was. He was  _ Peter’s  _ world.

And so was Bucky.

And so was Natasha, and Rhodes, Sam, and Steve. They were  _ all  _ his home. And he knew, as Bruce held him, that he was safe with them, with every single one.

Then, Tony came to mind, and all memories associated with the man.

The smell of car oil and pine that always seemed to hover around him, meaning Peter could sense his approaching moments before the man himself came into view. Blowing off homework to work on new projects in the lab (of course, Tony didn’t actually  _ know  _ there was homework). Movie nights while the two squished together in the middle of the couch, even though there was enough seating for the entirety of the Avengers Initiative to fit comfortably.

Then, newer memories came to mind, memories that Peter had almost forgotten.

Tony, being first through the door to find Peter in his cell, and the pure  _ fear  _ that radiated through Peter at the sight of what should’ve been a familiar face. Tony feeding Peter at the table on his first night back, and Peter almost crying at the thought of  _ Tony poisoned the food. This is how I’ll die _ . Peter sitting on the couch, staring straight ahead, Tony asleep beside him; but Peter couldn’t move, because  _ Tony didn’t tell me I could. _

All the fear that Peter had felt at the  _ mention  _ of his dad.

All the anxiety that arose when Tony reached out to touch him, or asked him a question Peter wasn’t sure how to answer correctly.

All the ways in which their relationship had changed.

Peter wasn’t sure where to go from here. The logical part of his brain knew he was absolutely safe with these people; that he was  _ rescued _ , and he was never going back.

The illogical part told him to push away from Bruce, fall to his knees, and beg that his punishment would be quick because  _ I had broken so many rules _ .

Whatever happened next, wherever the road to recovery took him, Peter knew one thing for sure.

He had to talk to Tony.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally speaks with Tony. Steve and Wanda make progress on their mini-mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this. It's exam season, so, y'know ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Thank you so much for sticking with me this long, and for all your support. I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3

Saying Tony was frustrated would’ve been an understatement.

_ Two months _ .

For two months, he had been kept away from his child because a man Tony had trusted had  _ taken  _ him. Taken Peter from right under Tony’s nose, when Tony hadn’t even suspected a thing until it was too late. It would be safe to say Tony was hesitant to trust anyone ever again, but of course he had to, seeing as Peter was essentially responding to everyone  _ but  _ him.

It was verging on  _ infuriating _ , seeing Peter putting his trust in different people - first, it was Natasha, and now, Bucky - when Tony felt he was just as deserving.

Well, maybe not  _ just as _ . Tony  _ had  _ let Peter get away from him. He had let his lapse in judgement affect Peter - his wellbeing, his  _ life _ . Maybe he wasn’t deserving of Peter’s trust, but… well, it would be nice to have it nonetheless.

Geez, it felt like just yesterday Tony had been laughing with Peter about how quickly the man had caused Peter to go bankrupt in one of their weekly games of Monopoly, back before all these events had transpired. Peter had spent all his money almost instantly on all the things Tony had deemed unimportant, because  _ The business owners have families to take care of, Mr. Stark!  _ It had been so precious, Tony almost felt bad about taking the kid’s money.

Almost.

Tony’s chest ached at the memory. Though it seemed like so long ago, it had only been two months. Eight weeks. 56 days. 56 days since Tony had heard his kid laugh, seen his eyes light up with a smile - but it felt like a lifetime. He could still hear Peter’s voice now.

Wait. No, he actually  _ could  _ hear Peter’s voice. Peter was… talking?

Peter was  _ talking _ .

Tony shot upright from where he had been lying on the bed, elbow bent over his eyes - which were now displaying stars as they adjusted to the sudden movement.

He staggered to his feet, not able to distinguish the words being spoken from the floor below, but the voice was unmistakable.

It was clearly the voice of Peter Parker.

Tony stumbled through the open bedroom doorway (which he had been too exhausted to close on his way in) and into the hallway, trying to balance his haste to get down to Peter with his desperation to hear the kid’s voice before he stopped talking, but to no avail. Peter’s voice was lost behind the deafening sound of Tony’s heartbeat as he practically ran down the stairs, breath coming short as his anxiety increased. He didn’t know whether to be nervous or excited - or both.

Tony reached the bottom of the stairs, pausing only momentarily to register from which direction the voice was coming from, before setting off in the direction of the kitchen, mind racing.

Why had Peter deemed it safe enough to walk around? What, or, more likely,  _ who _ , had made him feel safe enough to talk?

And why wasn’t Tony there for any of it?

He came to a sudden halt in the doorway of the kitchen, vision beginning to blur from the headrush he had gotten from sprinting through the compound, meaning he couldn’t clearly make out the two shapes in the kitchen.

The one kneeling closer to him was easily recognizable as Bucky, long hair tucked behind his ears as he smiled at the second figure a tad further away, metal arm placed lightly in his lap-

_ Metal arm?  _ Why hadn’t he covered it?

Tony blinked a few times, trying to swallow his anger, the sudden reminder that he had never really discussed the issue with Bucky loud in his mind - but he tried to ignore it. He had to find Peter first. Then he could yell at Bucky.

Tony quickly turned his attention to the second figure crouched further away. His head span suddenly - apparently the blood hadn’t resettled in his body yet from his sudden hundred-metre-dash - as he examined the figure.

It - it  _ looked  _ like Bruce, Tony figured from process of elimination - the fact that Bucky was already accounted for, the light skin tone, and the lack of long, red hair giving it away - except, the figure looked too big to be Bruce. He was clutching something against his chest, but,  _ damn it _ , Tony’s vision was still swimming.

Someone was saying something, and there was movement, but Tony just shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them, leaning against the doorframe.

_ Come on _ , he thought angrily as he continued to hear movement from right in front of him.  _ Peter’s finally talking, and now I can’t see him? _

After a minute, when Tony felt the room stop spinning, he peeled his hands away from his face - and his legs felt weak with shock at the big, brown eyes he saw staring up at him.

They weren’t scared, or shy, or barely even sad - they were  _ concerned _ . Worried. Worried for  _ Tony _ , of all things.

“Dad?” Peter asked, worry evident in his entire demeanor as he stood mere steps away from Tony - but all the man could do was blink back in response.

Peter, his kid, his  _ son _ , was standing a few metres in front of Tony, looking him in the eyes - and for the first time since Tony rescued him, he didn’t look scared. He just looked… he just looked like  _ Peter _ , albeit with dirty hair and poorly-fitting clothes.

Suddenly, Tony became aware of just how  _ thin  _ Peter had gotten - cheeks sunken in, arms thin at his side, heavy bags under his eyes. This was Peter, but it also…  _ wasn’t _ .

Peter always had rosy cheeks as he smiled from ear to ear. His arms were toned and defined by the building of muscles as he swung around as Spider-Man. The bags under his eyes… well, those were normal, but they’ve never been so  _ dark _ before.

“ _ Peter _ ,” Tony breathed out as he fell to his knees, the sudden weight of all the desperation and anxiety he’s felt for these last two months crashing down on him. His chest began to throb with the sudden onslaught of emotion, but Tony didn’t mind it if it meant Peter was finally  _ home _ .

Tony knelt on the ground, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Peter stood a few steps away from him, just looking worried - worried for Tony, no doubt.

“Oh, Pete, I’m - I’m okay,” he whispered, a watery smile breaking out at just how  _ kind  _ his kid was. Even after… after all this, he was  _ still  _ caring for others.

But still, there was something off. Peter wasn’t approaching; he wasn’t coming any nearer. He was simply standing there, fingers fiddling against each other anxiously, as he stared at Tony, and Tony realized… maybe he wasn’t  _ all  _ back.

Tony quickly tried to sober himself, brushing off the tears and trying to force the pain in his chest down and away, where it could be ignored. He had to stay composed right now, for Peter.

“And you,” Tony continued quietly, swallowing heavily, “are you okay, Peter?”

Peter stood still for a moment - then, slowly, he shook his head.

“Why not, baby?” His voice had dropped back down to a whisper. Seeing his kid, but…  _ not  _ his kid, well, it was troubling, to say the least.

Peter’s eyes widened slightly, and Tony was about to slap himself for asking Peter a question when he had  _ learned  _ not to do that, but he held himself back when he realized Peter was actually considering answering. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and his eyes fluttered around the room, seeming to search for answers. Finally, he refocused his eyes back on Tony, hands fiddling wildly in his lap, and spoke.

And despite the words he was saying, his voice alone was music to Tony’s ears.

“They did something to me,” he murmured, voice sounding drained. “I know you rescued me, and I know I’m safe, but I don’t…  _ feel  _ it.” He watched Tony warily, looking…  _ scared _ . He looked scared of how Tony would react, but Tony wasn’t mad - not even close.

Instead, a smile broke out on his face, and Peter looked shocked as Tony looked up at him, pure love and admiration evident in his eyes.

“Peter, you are so strong,” he whispered, emotion evident behind his words - but Peter just shook his head and looked down, looking ashamed. Tony took a slow step closer, wondering if Peter was ready to have his boundaries tested just yet. When he didn’t flinch, Tony took this as a good sign.

“You have been healing and growing leaps and bounds since we first rescued you, Peter. Don’t you see? You’ve been fighting so hard, and you are  _ so  _ brave-”

“No,” Peter sobbed quietly, shoulders beginning to shake with the weight of his heavy breaths. “I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t escape. It was my fault-”

Tony’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Peter.” He reached forward to grab Peter’s hands, but the boy flinched away suddenly, taking a quick step back. Tony leaned back on his heels and held his hands up beside his head, palms out, just staring at Peter.

The boy had his arms wrapped around his chest, eyes focused on the ground as he stood, breathing heavily. The room was silent. Out of his peripherals, Tony noticed Bruce and Bucky watching him, but Tony didn’t look back. He only had eyes for Peter.

Sure, it bothered him a little that he was flinching away from Tony when Peter had been hugging Bruce before, but Tony couldn’t say he didn’t understand. To this day, he still couldn’t have things handed to him by new people because of the whole Afghanistan fiasco. Tony was the poster boy for PTSD. (He just hoped Peter wouldn’t close himself off from physical contact like he himself had.)

Finally, Peter’s breathing steadied again, and his shoulders fell flat. He tilted his head even lower, as if he was embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony clicked his tongue.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Peter,” Tony responded fiercely, but not unkindly, Peter’s head drifting upward to meet his expression. Tony met his eyes and couldn’t help but smile again. This was his kid. His kid was safe. His kid was  _ home _ . “None of this was your fault, you hear me?” Peter blinked, eyes beginning to wander up to the ceiling. “Peter.”

Peter’s attention snapped back down to Tony, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Tony quieted his voice, looking up at his kid through his lashes.

“None of this was your fault.”

Tony held his gaze until Peter nodded, albeit reluctantly. Tony knew he didn’t really understand, and he might not for a while. Well then, Tony would just have to keep reminding him until he did.

“Baby, I know it seems hard right now, and you may not believe it, but you  _ are  _ strong, okay?” Tony pleaded. “You are the strongest person I know, and it’s okay if it takes you a little while to completely heal.” A sad smile played across his features at the thought of Peter  _ healing _ , until he realized how long it might take Peter to do so. How much damage did they do?  _ How much damage did Steve do _ , he thought angrily - but he forced the thought away, clenching his jaw so hard he gave himself a minor headache.

Tony closed his eyes momentarily, forcing the image of Steve from his mind.  _ Later _ , he convinced himself simply.  _ Now, Peter needs you _ . He opened his eyes slowly and smiled at Peter.

“You take as much time as you need, alright? And I’ll.... I’ll always be here to help you heal.”

Peter stared back at him, eyes wide, tears openly streaming down his cheeks.

“How do you know?”

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly. “How do I know what, kiddo?”

Peter sniffled, eyes drifting back down to the floor.

“How do you know I’ll heal?”

Tony’s mouth fell open as he heard Peter speak. Did he really have such little hope, in himself  _ and  _ in Tony’s ability, in Tony’s  _ will _ , to help him?

“Peter, do you really think you won’t get better?”

Peter shrugged, running his hand along his arm as he gnawed on his lip, avoiding eye contact. Tony took the opportunity to slowly inch closer to his son, until there was just a single step between them.

“Look at me, please, kiddo.” Peter complied. “You  _ will  _ get better, okay? Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I promise you, you will. I know it seems hopeless right now, but you  _ will  _ heal. And until that point, I’ll be right by your side, no matter what.” Tony paused, staring up at Peter’s big, watery eyes. “Sound good?”

Peter nodded suddenly, a small smile appearing on his lips. He let his hands fall loosely at his sides, no longer anxiously fiddling. He took a step closer, until he was close enough for Tony to reach out and touch him.

“Can I hug you?”

Tony actually let out a chuckle, raising his arms to hold them open as pure happiness flooded his chest.

“Of course, baby, you don’t have to ask. C’mere.”

And Peter did.

He slowly stepped forwards into Tony’s arms, the latter wrapping his own hands around to clutch Peter’s back tightly, protectively - and he was proud to say Peter didn’t flinch away, instead letting his head fall forward to bury his face in the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony closed his eyes as he held Peter fast against his chest, letting the world fade into the background as he held his son tighter.

Tony had finally gotten back his son, and he was never going to let Peter go again.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve stood in front of the old warehouse, Wanda at his side, looking up at it in the distaste. Flashbacks from that one mission, that one night, that one conversation, were repeating in his mind, a dreadful montage of horrible mistakes and memories wished to be forgotten.

Why had he trusted that agent?

“Steve.” Steve turned his head to the side at the beckoning, gaze met by Wanda staring up at him, eyebrows raised. “Don’t start with the self-pity now. We came for Sitwell. Don’t let your bad decision affect how you go about fixing it.”

Steve stared down at her in contempt. “You know, Wanda, I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that.”

“Well, get used to it,” she spat back, a faint red fire beginning to glow behind her eyes. “Look, you made a shitty decision. That was bad judgement on your part. You’re lucky I’m even here with you right now and not plotting your demise with the rest of the group. I did this because you acted remorseful and ready to fix your mistakes, so I deemed you worthy of following. If what you’re saying now means you’re  _ not  _ worthy, I’m leaving. Is that what you’re saying?”

Steve took a step back, eyes wide, feeling as if he was physically attacked by the sudden outburst. He had never heard Wanda speak with such passion behind her words, and  _ especially  _ not directed at him.

He regained his senses just enough to shake his head.

“Good.” Wanda nodded stiffly before turning her attention back to the building. “Now, let’s go find Sitwell.” She marched towards the warehouse, shoulders pressed back and a strong sense of determination in her eyes, leaving Steve to trail behind.

With a flick of her hand, Wanda had the door to the warehouse creaking open, dust flying up into her face, making her cough. She heard Steve doing the same from behind her. When she recovered, she cast a cautious glance into the dark room, hands poised ready at her side.

The room was shrouded in shadow, the only light coming from the doorway she was currently occupying. She felt Steve standing behind her, but other than that, she could sense no other presences. Nonetheless, she curled her fingers to send red tendrils throughout the room, illuminating the space.

The room was the same one she had seen in Steve’s memory. There was a desk pushed up against the far wall, a computer on top displaying a black screen. Even from the barely-lit doorway, Wanda could see it was coated in dust. A table was pushed against the far right wall, two chairs sprawled on the floor in front of it. Higher up the wall was a board with thumb tacks. It clearly used to display some papers and notes, but there was no sign of them now.

Wanda stepped into the desolate room, Steve following behind her. She continued to twist her fingers out in front of her, keeping the red tendrils alight, exposing all four dusty corners of the room to sudden light, looking for anything that could point towards where the criminals went, or even where the were - but to no avail. Sitwell had covered his tracks well.

Steve groaned from behind her.

“Of course he didn’t leave anything behind. How stupid was I?”

“Steve.” Wanda turned suddenly to face him. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement. Say this was just another Hydra thug you were hunting, and not… you know. What would you do next?”

Steve looked around warily. “Look for clues.”

Wanda nodded wisely, eyebrows raised.

“But there’s none  _ here! _ ”

Wanda closed her eyes and pushed the heels of her hands against her forehead, sighing deeply as the red light went out, casting the room once again into shadows.

“Close your eyes.” He did so. “Deep breath in, deep breath out….”

Steve recoiled suddenly, eyes shooting open as something hit his face. He stepped back to see Wanda staring at him expectantly.

“You  _ slapped _ me!”

“Yup.”

Steve’s mouth was agape as he searched for words. An emotion close to  _ anger _ , but blocked by  _ confusion _ , was trying to process itself in his mid.

_ “Why?” _

Wanda shrugged nonchalantly. “You were losing focus.”

“You don’t  _ slap  _ somebody for losing focus!”

“ _ Steve _ ,” Wanda growled. “You need to focus. Actually  _ think _ . Stop wallowing. You’ll never find Sitwell that way.”

Steve rubbed his cheek subconsciously as he stared at her, breathing heavily. She glared back, waiting for an answer. Eventually, he sighed and averted his gaze.

“Fine,” he answered, and resumed to look around the room. Wanda nodded in approval and did her own searching.

Steve was at a loss. He had no idea where to start. Usually, Hydra thugs weren’t this clean. When Steve had attacked their bases in the past, he had caught them off guard, and they barely had any time to collect their things. This time, though, there was too much warning - and Steve never forgot, not for a moment, that it was because he essentially gave it to them.

He looked throughout the room for something,  _ anything _ , that could lead him towards Sitwell - but, to no avail. The computer had lost its battery a long time ago, the board was empty, and a heavy layer of dust was coating any footprints or fingerprints that might’ve existed in the past.

He groaned in frustration and was about to storm out of the room when he heard Wanda call his name from behind him.

“Steve, I think I found something.”

Steve turned suddenly and hurried over to where Wanda was standing beside one of the overturned chairs, looking down at it - no, looking at something lying  _ beneath  _ it. He watched as Wanda bent down and gently lifted the chair a few inches off the floor to pull the yellowing piece of paper from beneath. She stood, holding it gingerly in her hand.

Steve watched her with wide eyes, hardly breathing as her narrowed eyes scanned the page.

“It’s a letter.” She furrowed her brows as she read. “It says…  _ Get the data. Meet back at the rendezvous point. A.T. _ ” Wanda flipped the paper over to look at the backside. When she saw it was blank, she looked back up at Steve and shrugged.

“That’s it?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Wanda nodded once, looking worried.

“Do you know who  _ A.T. _ is?” Steve shook his head. Wanda nodded thoughtfully before continuing. “So, it wasn’t  _ Sitwell  _ who wanted the data - or, at least, he wasn’t working alone.”

“And this letter - it means that Sitwell was planning on getting this information from Peter  _ before  _ I attacked his base. It wasn’t just an excuse to save himself. He’d- He’d been watching Peter.”

Wanda gave Steve a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll find him - him,  _ and  _ Sitwell. We’ll get them back for this, Steve.”

Steve straightened his shoulders and pursed his lips.

“I won’t rest until we do,” he responded tightly. Wanda mirrored his position, expression determined. “Now, let’s go find this A.T.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter reveals to the group another aspect of his torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this. Exams are still going on, but after that updates will be more frequent. Thank you for staying with me so long, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!! <3
> 
> WARNING: descriptions of waterboarding and electrocution

Slowly, one by one, Peter had been reintroduced to the rest of the Avengers. Natasha had simply smiled, as if she knew all along that he would come back. Rhodes seemed excited to have gotten his nephew back. Sam had been somewhere in the middle, feeling insanely proud for the kid, unable to bite back the huge grin that spread across his face when Peter’s eyes met his.

Peter didn’t seem to feel comfortable around any of the group yet, though each of them were giving him plenty of reasons to. Even though Bucky held the kid’s trust just an hour earlier, it seemed the appearance of the rest of the group had caused Peter to close off again. Peter looked like he  _ wanted  _ to trust Tony, because that was his dad - but Tony was also the first person Peter saw after being rescued, and two conflicting memories too close together… well, they were hard to differentiate.

Peter had stepped back from Tony when the rest of the group entered, Bruce having called them down, and hadn’t moved since. He simply stood, eyes moving from one person to the next, and they were all staring back at  _ him _ .

_ They won’t hurt you _ , the reasonable side of his mind tried to convince him, but the self-preserving one was quick to rebuttal that. After all, he had learned a lot of things over the last few months, one of which was, the more people that surrounded you, the worse the punishment would be.

Peter’s eyes scanned the group before him, and he recognized…  _ friends _ \- or, at least, who he  _ thought  _ were friends. People who he could vaguely remember happy memories with. But the way they were standing, all crowded around him in a circle, just made the words  _ no escape no escape no escape  _ play like a broken record in Peter’s mind.

It was funny, how they were standing in such a definite pattern - well, really, the  _ opposite  _ of funny, because that was exactly how his captors would surround him when he was misbehaving. One would be holding anything from a belt to a knife, depending on how much he had screwed up - or even, how particularly sadistic they felt like being.

Suddenly, memories mixed with reality, and Peter could no longer tell which was real, and which was his nightmare.

Bucky’s metal arm could be containing some form of electrical current - or could simply do a lot of damage if he decided on using Peter as a punching bag. There were large kitchen knives, easily accessible above the fridge. The sink was the perfect size for waterboarding, and Peter felt his lungs burning at the memory of just one of the tortures he had been forced to endure.

_ “Come on, sweetheart,” _ Peter heard someone say from nearby - no, he realized with a jolt. He was being thrust into a memory. But honestly, what was the difference anymore? “ _ Let’s see how long you can hold that pretty little breath of yours.” _

_ Peter looked groggily down at the large basin of water in front of him, vaguely understanding what was about to happen to him, even through the loud ringing in his ears from the punches that had previously been delivered to him in rapid succession. He struggled weakly, thrusting his shoulders around, but the cuffs that held his hands behind his back prevented him from any serious movement. They were normal handcuffs; Peter had grown weak enough to be restricted by them. _

_ The two captors gripping either of his shoulders pressed down harder, agitating the burns running along them. Peter winced and cried out in pain. _

_ That’s when they decided to push him under. _

_ The cold water overcame him like a wave, quick and sudden so he didn’t even have time to take a breath - or even close his eyes. He couldn’t see anything, the room too dark to discern anything beneath the water, but he could still  _ feel _. The water was freezing, and Peter shuttered violently as it filled his ears and nose. He fought to keep his mouth shut. He hadn’t had the time to take another breath, so he would preserve the limited oxygen he had. _

_ Which was’t alot. _

_ Soon enough, his lungs had started to burn with the pressure of holding on for so long. His eyes were beginning to water - or was that just the water that seemed to surround him from every angle? - but he refused to move for fear of breaking Rules Eight and Nine. No emotion. Receive all punishment without complaint. _

_ This moment was one of many in which Peter realized how evil his captors really were. They had worded these Rules in a way that if you broke one, you were probably breaking at least one other, maybe even a third. It just made you all the more compliant. _

_ That didn’t matter at the moment. All that did was there was water around Peter and arms were holding him, pressing him down down down and he couldn’t breathe and his chest was aching and his eyes were wide and he wanted to scream but he couldn’t and suddenly he was and there was water in his mouth and probably in his lungs and he was drowning drowning drowning- _

_ All at once, his captors were pulling rather than pushing. Peter’s head broke the surface of the water, and for a moment he couldn’t regain his breath, coughing and sputtering as a third man came into view. He was dragging something behind him, something that vaguely resembled a snake, but Peter was too busy coughing out water to recognize what it was. It was only when he finally recovered enough to take a breath, eyes red, that it was all explained to him, and he finally realized. _

_ The third man stepped in front of Peter on the opposite side of the basin, but Peter stared dutifully down at the water, chest still heaving. He wasn’t about to break  _ another  _ Rule by looking this man in the eyes, no matter how close he was to death. _

_ “You know what this is?” The man lifted a hand, dangling the snake-shaped object in front of Peter’s face, but Peter didn’t respond. “It’s a live wire. Plugged into that socket, right there.” _

_ Peter refused to look up, partly in fear of breaking a Rule, partly because if he looked, everything would be confirmed. Everything he had guessed would be real. _

_ It turned out, he didn’t need to look, because the man explained his thought process a minute later - and it was everything Peter had expected, but somehow so much worse. _

_ “You weren’t supposed to struggle, sweetie, you knew that.” Peter fought down a shiver at the nickname. “Now, you’re smart. Raised by Tony Stark. You know what electricity, plus water, plus boy equals, don’t you?” _

_ Peter’s heart was beating against his ribcage, loud enough to block out anything else the man would’ve said - but it turned out, nothing else needed to be said, because suddenly, the hands on his shoulders were gripping him tighter. Peter had just enough time to take a deep breath (though, he didn’t believe oxygen was going to be his biggest problem this time around) in time for his head to be forced back under the water. _

_ Immediately after, Peter saw the thick wire dropped in front of his face, floating eerily still in the basin. Then, there was a small, bright orange spark just in front of his eyes - and Peter started screaming. _

Peter blinked open his eyes, not even knowing he had closed him, the eerie sounds of his underwater screams echoing in his head - or, wait. His throat hurt. Had he been screaming  _ out loud? _

Peter got phantom jolts around his neck and shoulders, and they began aching at the memory of being electrocuted so shortly after an iron being pressed into them ( _ “Let’s see how long it takes you to burn, huh?” _ ). His heart was beating far too fast to be normal, and his chest was beginning to ache from the pain as he started straight down at the ground. Part of him knew he was back home and safe. The other part kept waiting to be punished.

“Peter?” he heard someone in front of him say. Peter had recovered enough to recognize that his captors never called him Peter, and that this voice held so much concern, that Peter knew they wouldn’t hurt him. However, some conditions weren’t so easily broken.

“Buddy, are you with us?”

Peter felt like he was moving through sludge, with how much resistance he felt and the voices in his head shouting  _ wrong wrong wrong _ , but he finally managed to lift his head enough to see someone standing above him - or, the waist of the person standing above him, at least. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes further than that. (With a jolt, Peter realized he had somehow adjusted himself so he was lying on the floor.)

“Pete, please, it’s Tony. It’s your Dad. You’re here with me.” And Peter knew this to be true, he just couldn’t… act on it. He refused to move. (Was it his mind that was stopping him, or his body refusing his thoughts? Peter couldn’t tell.)

Tony sighed, and then: “Everybody out.”

Peter was gripped with such anxiety, it squeezed around his heart at the thought of these people, his  _ friends _ , leaving. They… they  _ had  _ to know it wasn’t their fault that Peter was acting this way. He had to tell them. It wasn’t  _ them  _ that was causing this; it was Peter’s unreliable mind.

“W-Wait,” Peter sputtered out as he slowly pushed himself up onto his knees. His thoughts of  _ Rule Five Rule Five Rule Five _ were so loud, he felt as if they were made physical and repeatedly hitting against the inside of his skull, but he ignored them and spoke up anyway.  _ They need to know _ .

“Please, don’t…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his voice shook. Then, heart pounding, he forced himself to lift his head and look the group of them in the eyes.

Tony, Natasha, Rhodes, Sam, Bruce, and Bucky, all watching him with such concern in their eyes, and Peter forced his brain to focus on  _ that _ , rather than his muscles tensing in preparation of the punishment he was sure was coming. “Don’t leave.”

The group all shared looks - all, except for Tony, who was staring unwaveringly down at Peter, at his  _ son _ \- and Peter stared back.

All at once, Peter’s walls came crashing down, as if the open defiance of a Rule had broken Peter from his spell. He stumbled up onto his feet and shoved himself forward, careening into Tony, the man stepping backwards in surprise as the boy clutched his waist tightly, desperately. His legs were trembling, but he wouldn’t fall, because he had Tony like a lifeline, keeping him up.

Slowly, gently, with an arm wrapped around Peter’s back, Tony supported the both of them as he lowered them to the ground, and Peter took the opportunity to get even closer to his Dad. He readjusted his arms so they were around Tony’s shoulders rather than his waist, and he buried his face against Tony’s neck, crying heavily and openly now. Tony closed his eyes, feeling Peter’s sticky curls press up against his cheek, and shushed the kid in comforting whispers.

Tony released one hand on Peter’s back for just long enough to gesture that the rest of the Avengers should join the two of them on the floor, and they did quickly and without question. Anything to help Peter recover.

“I-I’m sorry,” Peter stuttered out as he sobbed, and he clutched Tony tighter. Tony just clicked his tongue.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, kiddie, alright?  _ They  _ did this. It’s not your fault.”

Tony felt Peter’s head shake in denial against his shoulder, but the kid didn’t say anything. Maybe he couldn’t think of an argument, or maybe he just wasn’t strong enough to.

“Peter, did you just have a flashback?” Peter nodded in response, his movements sharp and jagged. Tony’s heart ached when the boy’s sobs increased. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he sighed, pressing his lips against Peter’s curls as he held his kid tighter, protectively. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Peter’s sobs subsided, and he slowly pushed himself up to stand on his feet. Tony moved a hand to help support Peter’s arms, but the boy flinched back (subconsciously and seemingly unknowingly), and Tony retracted his arms quickly.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, Peter started to walk closer to the countertops of the kitchen, and Tony watched him go, confused. Did he do something wrong? Did he accidently give Peter an order the boy felt he needed to follow?

Peter came to a stop just in front of the sink, his shoulders visibly rising and falling intensely. Then, slowly, arm violently trembling, Peter reached a hand up to turn on the faucet.

Tony watched as the boy shrank back from the freely-flowing water - though, as much as he wanted to, Tony didn’t move to help him. Peter was obviously frightened, his nerves already on edge. Plus, he was trying to tell Tony something, to communicate what words couldn’t describe. So, Tony just sat and watched.

He watched as the sink filled with water. He watched as Peter stood above it, staring down at it, face pale and eyes wide. Then, he watched as Peter reached onto the countertop where Tony’s phone charger was still plugged into the wall from where the man had taken his phone earlier. He watched as Peter threw it in the water. And then, he watched in horror as Peter put his hand in.

“ _ Peter! _ ” Tony surged forward, followed closely by the other Avengers. He knew better than to touch Peter himself, instead yanking the charger from the wall before continuing his sprint to where Peter was standing, mildly surprised by the sudden outburst.

Tony clutched his hands around Peter’s cheeks, searching his eyes for any indication that something was off. “Peter, what the  _ heck  _ were you thinking?”

Peter looked taken aback as he inched away from Tony, who let his hands fall limply to his sides. The two stared at each other, Peter waiting for an explanation, and Tony waiting for a sign that Peter was okay, that he was sane enough to know what water plus electricity equals.

“Tones, he seems fine,” Rhodes said from somewhere off to Tony’s left, sounding just as confused as Tony himself was.

“He shouldn’t be,” Tony shot back, continuing his staring contest with an unaffected Peter. “He should be startled, at the least. It was a low voltage, but he should’ve felt  _ something _ .”

Suddenly, Natasha was stepping forward so she was at Tony’s side, watching Peter with a determined intensity.

“Peter, is that what your flashback was about? Did they electrocute you?”

Tony’s heart was beating in his throat. That couldn’t have been it. They couldn’t have electrocuted his kid, his  _ son _ . What was the point? What purpose would that even  _ serve _ -

Peter nodded.

Tony practically collapsed against Natasha’s side, but she barely reacted. She was too caught up in her own tactic for dealing with shock - tensing up. Standing perfectly still.

“That’s why you didn’t react,” she whispered, as if she was scared to say the words, to voice the thoughts. If she did, they might become tangible. “You’re used to worse. I’m betting they didn’t use a phone charger, did they?” Peter’s eyes began to grow rimmed with red as he shook his head slightly and looked down. “And I’m going to guess they didn’t just electrocute your hand.”

Slowly, Peter stepped back to the sink, hands on either side of the countertop, and mimed putting his face in before straightening and looking back at Natasha.

The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was standing, frozen, no one sure of what to do. What were you  _ supposed  _ to do in a situation like this?

“I’m going to kill him.”

Everyone turned to look at Sam, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he said the words - so no one was looking to see Peter’s eyes widen. No one noticed his face pale. No one saw, or heard, him scamper backwards out of the kitchen in fear, trained to be silent after weeks of being forced to pretend he wasn’t human.

“Sitwell, or Steve?” Natasha asked, dry humour delivered in a no-nonsense way. 

Tony laughed humorlessly. “I’d go for either.”

Too late, the group realized Peter had gone forgotten behind them in the rage that had suddenly encompassed them all. Too late, they turned back to where the basin was now overflowing with water.

Too late, they noticed Peter was gone.

◊ ◊ ◊

Peter knew it was wrong to run, for so many reasons.

If he believed these people would hurt him, he was breaking a Rule.

If he believed these people were his friends, he had no reason to run.

No matter what he believed, his captors, the bad people, had escaped, he remembered hearing from when he was first rescued. They were still out there, and Peter was still in danger.

(Plus, there was the fact that Sam had threatened to kill him.)

The issue was that Peter didn’t know  _ what  _ to believe, and maybe that was why he ran. He was  _ confused _ . He couldn’t stand it anymore. Peter didn’t know where he was running  _ to _ , just that he was running  _ away _ . Away until he could calm down. Away until he could breathe. Away until he could  _ think. _ Away until he could feel better.

Peter ran out the front door and down the driveway, sprinting down the street. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months. His body was used to it, but it  _ wasn’t  _ used to doing so much exercise on such little nutrients. Peter hadn’t even ran half a kilometre when he stumbled to a stop on the side of a quiet road, lined on either side by trees. 

The compound was still visible behind him, albeit a distance away - though, all the Avengers had special suits and cars at their disposal. Plus, they were fully grown men and women who were trained to chase, attack, fight,  _ kill _ . They could catch up to him in a heartbeat.

Peter had to get off the road.

He turned right into the trees, panting heavily as the road slowly fell away behind him. At this point, he wasn’t running as much as he was walking at a quick pace. He pushed on through the trees as the crossing branches casted shadows across his path. He stepped over a decaying log, and passed a camouflaged frog that hopped away as soon as Peter got near it.

Birds were in the trees above him, but they seemed oddly quiet. The entire situation seemed  _ off  _ to Peter - or, maybe he was the one that was off.  _ He  _ was the one running away with no plan, having nowhere to go, not completely who he was running away from… or maybe even  _ towards _ .

Peter didn’t know what was going on in his mind, or why he thought it fitting to run. Maybe he wanted to run away, leave everything behind. Find a new house, maybe even a new family. Start over.

_ Tony will miss you _ , a small voice spoke up in his head.  _ And you’ll miss him _ .

Peter stepped over another log, trying to dislodge the voice from his head. Really, it didn’t make any sense to him. How did this voice in his head know the truth when even Peter himself didn’t? Or… maybe Peter  _ did _ . Maybe his common sense had been shoved so far down, he didn’t even realize it still existed - but this small voice did.

The thing was, this small voice… there were two of them. One was focused on self preservation. One said,  _ You broke a Rule. You’re going to be punished. _ The other said,  _ Tony would never punish you _ . Sometimes one won, sometimes the other. Sometimes Peter agreed with the prevailing voice, sometimes he didn’t.

His mind felt like it was splitting in two, what he used to be and what he currently was. Peter, however, didn’t describe himself as either of those things. He thought he was inbetween.

He’s not who he used to be, and he’ll never be that again. He’ll never regain that simple innocence.

However, he was  _ also  _ not just a “victim”. He couldn’t live the rest of his life by these rules that had so cruelly been engraved in his mind.

Peter thought he was inbetween.

And that scared him.

_ Tony will help you _ , the voice of who Peter used to be spoke up. It was the prevailing voice at the moment. Peter thought that was a good thing. Maybe that was what he needed.

_ Has Tony hurt you? _

Peter thought for a moment before answering, not even pausing to consider the prospect of a conversation with himself.

Putting aside the gut feelings of fear whenever Tony entered a room (because Peter learned not to trust his instincts; they’re a little askew, anyway), Peter realized - Tony’s never actually, deliberately hurt him. Putting aside all instincts and warning signals his captors had engraved into him, Peter had no reason to feel  _ unsafe  _ around Tony.

_ Tony can help you _ , the voice repeated, and Peter thought this was one of those times where he actually agreed with the voice. He stopped suddenly, his foot hovering just where it was about to step down on freshly fallen leaves.

Did he  _ really _ want to do this? Did he really want to leave Tony, his one link to his recovery, behind?

_ No _ , Peter thought suddenly, finding himself agreeing with the voice.  _ I don’t _ .

Rather than taking a step forward, Peter turned and instead took a step back to the compound, back the way he came.

Before he could put his foot down and take that first step, he heard an awfully familiar voice that confirmed where all his uneasiness had been coming from.

“Well, hello again, sweetheart.”

Something heavy hit Peter in the back of the head, and it all went dark.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter reunites with someone he never thought he'd see again. The Avengers learn the truth about Peter's homecoming night.

Peter woke in an unfamiliar place. Despite the location, the emotions he felt were all too familiar.

He was sitting upright against a cold, cement wall, his neck aching from the uncomfortable position it had been held at when he was placed there. (Peter tried to force the thought of his unconscious body being held and carried against his will from his mind.) His wrists were pressed against the wall behind him, and Peter recognized the feeling of chains around them, holding them in place. He tried to pull against them, but his attempts were futile - and this time, it wasn’t because he was weak; it was because they were  _ vibranium _ .

Peter didn’t know if it was because he was groggy from the concussion he was positive was forming after that hit to the back of the head, or because he was unsurprised to be back here, but he didn’t feel scared at the prospect of being in this situation again. If anything, he felt…  _ relieved _ .

It was a horrible thing to think, but if Peter was here, the only thought in his mind was  _ survive _ . He knew for a fact these people were bad. There was no confusion. Plus, Peter knew these people wouldn’t kill him (at least, if they were the same people who had taken him last time - but with the vibranium cuffs, he wasn’t so sure). They needed Peter for experiments. They would push him to the brink of death and it would hurt immensely, but they wouldn’t kill him.

Maybe this was the most comfortable his life would get.

It was surprising, but not upsetting to Peter, that he made that connection.

Peter blinked until his vision was only semi-blurry when the door opposite his position in the small, dimly-lit room was opened, and the figure that walked through did nothing to help his addled brain. It wasn’t the people that had taken him before - it was Adrian Toomes.

Peter’s eyes widened, and then he squinted, in an attempt to make out the figure more clearly, but the one light bulb hanging in the centre in the room barely provided enough light to make out the exact details of the man’s face. That didn’t matter, though. Peter’s hopes of this man being someone different than the man who had haunted his nightmares for the last nine months… he knew they weren’t true.

Adrian Toomes had kidnapped him.

Toomes laughed when he saw the confusion on Peter’s face, and the boy flinched back as the haunting sound sent a shiver through his veins. Sure, there wasn’t a lot of light, but there was enough to glint off his teeth like that of a shark’s.

“I know. Two kidnappings within the span of a few days. How unlucky, huh?” His voice was loud and victorious in the small room, and Peter found himself shaking as flashbacks from homecoming replayed themselves in his mind. His previous kidnapping had erased them because there were fresher horrors to deal with, but now, coming face-to-face with the main character in his recurring nightmares….

Toomes took a step closer, and Peter caved even further into himself, tugging fruitlessly at the chains around his wrists. “Except, it wasn’t unlucky, Pedro.” The nickname made Peter’s heart skip a beat, and he pulled his knees up to his chest to attempt to replicate a feeling of safety and comfort. It didn’t work.

Toomes took another step closer until he was towering over Peter. Then, he leaned down until his lips were right beside Peter’s ear, as if they were sharing a secret. Peter was shaking with fear. He couldn’t hold back the terrified tears that began to leak out of his wide eyes.

“See, it was me that sent those HYDRA agents to get you, Peter,” he whispered, and Peter froze, his body feeling like it had been locked up - and Toomes held the key. “You can’t just ruin my plans,  _ take  _ my family from me, and get away with it.”

He lifted himself slowly until he was back to towering above Peter, teeth bared in that shark-like grin.

“You see, Sitwell… he dropped the ball. Got cold feet. Tried to say,  _ He’s a kid _ , and no matter how much I yelled back that  _ he took my family from me _ …” Toomes’ voice had risen until he was shouting, blazing eyes making Peter quake in fear until his voice dropped back to a deadly whisper. “He wouldn’t listen. Gave Rogers the address, and ran off before he showed up. Well, you see how much good that did him.”

Toomes raised a hand to gesture to a far corner of the room, one Peter could easily see, and looked away as if whatever he was pointing at wasn’t worth his time. Peter warily looked into the corner and tried to make out the lump that was sitting there.

He almost threw up when he discerned it.

It was one of the men that had kidnapped him, lying crumpled in a heap, what looked like freshly flowing blood falling from a bullet wound in his head. His face still had some pink flush to it, which Peter could barely make out in the light. He had just been killed.

“See, I needed him to retrieve you again, to make up for what he had done the first time around, how he had failed.  _ I  _ couldn’t go myself, not with all of the Avengers so close by, so I made him.

“The Avengers couldn’t find him - good-for-nothing so-called heroes - but  _ I  _ could. Threatened to kill his family unless he helped me - hey, just like I did for you, Pete!” The man laughed with honest joy, as if he drew pleasure from the situation. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the crumpled heap in the corner.

“Yeah, it was unfortunate, though,” Toomes droned on, staring at Sitwell as if the man was simply a favoured vase that had broken, rather than a human he had shot in his desperate need for revenge. “If he had just done what I had asked in the first place….”

Peter brought his gaze back to Toomes, who shrugged as he kneeled in front of Peter.

“Ah, well.” Then he smiled, a large, devilish smirk. “It’s time for us to have some fun, huh, Pete?”

Peter shook his head quickly.  _ No _ . Even though this was the man behind his first kidnapping, Peter had never seen his face, had never associated Toomes with it, and it felt like a completely different kidnapping situation. Peter didn’t feel the need to follow the Rules here. Plus, he had known Toomes from long before the first kidnapping. He wasn’t feeling compliant towards him, like he had to obey - Peter was simply  _ terrified _ .

“I’m sorry?” Toomes’ head snapped to Peter, and the boy shrunk in on himself, curling himself into the smallest he had ever been in all his life. “ _ No? _ ”

Peter shook his head again, this time more violently, more desperately. Just the name  _ Toomes _ had sent shivers down his spine throughout those nine months after  _ the incident _ , and now Peter was face-to-face with him, the danger becoming all the more real.

Toomes lunged forward and grabbed a fistfull of Peter’s hair, yanking him forward against the chains.

“Sorry, Pedro,” he spat as Peter struggled beneath his unwavering grip. “Not an option.”

Toomes reached into his back pocket and pulled out something Peter barely had enough time to see before it was shoved around his neck.  _ A collar _ , Peter realized with a jolt as it automatically clicked shut behind his neck with something Peter assumed to be magnets - and he guessed his cuffs worked the same way.

“See, Pete, when that incompetant agent was in charge, he used handcuffs and ropes.” Toomes spat in the direction of where Sitwell was lying, and Peter, tears in his eyes, sent up a silent apology to the man’s soul, wherever it was currently resting.

Toomes looked back to Peter and shook his head. “Not me. I got alien tech, baby!” He pulled something else out of his pocket that looked like a small remote and pressed a button, and Peter’s hands fell limp to the floor, disconnected from the wall. They were magnets, as Peter had suspected. Before he had the chance to move them, though, another button was pressed, and they forced themselves together behind Peter’s back. Finally, a third button was pressed, and Peter’s collar began to squeeze tighter, constricting around his neck.

Peter tried to suck in a breath, but the collar was too tight, shrinking and shrinking smaller and smaller and Peter couldn’t breath and it was  _ too tight _ -

All at once, the pressure was relieved, if just a tad, and Peter could suck in shallow breaths. It wasn’t enough to make up for the air he had lost in those precarious seconds, but he could breathe again, at least.

“Good,” Toomes nodded, looking satisfied. “Now, you’re going to follow me without complaint, or I’ll tighten the collar and won’t let up. Sound good?”

Peter nodded quickly, though it was hard with the thick, cold metal around his neck, and began to cry. He didn’t hide it, as he followed Toomes out of the room, casting one final glance at Sitwell, and sending one final prayer to whoever was listening that his soul would rest in peace. Sure, he had kidnapped Peter, but at the threats of his family. That was something Peter could understand, and he found himself not blaming Sitwell one bit. No, it was  _ Toomes’  _ fault - and Peter was completely at his mercy.

Toomes led Peter into a newer, brightly lit room. It was about the same size as the last one, but in the center of this room was a pool, shaped almost perfectly to fit Peter’s body in all dimensions - length, width, and height.

Peter’s heart dropped to his shoes when he saw it. The tears seemed to flow faster.

He wished Sitwell was still alive, if only to torture Peter, cut into his skin and waterboard him and torture him in many ways Peter didn’t even think was possible - because he knew, at the end of the day, Sitwell would always let up, would always let him live.

Toomes wouldn’t.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago, Pedro,” Toomes said loudly as he spread his arms apart, as if presenting the empty room his voice was now echoing in. “Remember when I dropped you into that lake, and you were drowning, tangled in your parachute, and you somehow managed to walk out alive?” he shrugged, feigning sadness at Peter, who stood trembling in the doorway. “You shouldn’t have.”

Peter had never hyperventilated in his life, but he was sure this was what it felt like. Tears dripping down his cheeks, slicking the rim of his collar, breaths coming out in shallow gasps he couldn’t recover from because of the tightness of the metal - he was going to die.

Peter Parker was going to die.

He was going to die  _ alone _ .

He was going to die at the hands of one he had thought he had defeated, that he had worked  _ so hard  _ to defeat.

He was going to die without making up with his dads.

“Get into the water, Pete,” Toomes called out solemnly, hard eyes burning into Peter’s. The boy was too frozen in fear to move, even if he wanted to.

Toomes shrugged, like he knew this was going to happen - then, without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled out his remote and pressed a button.

The collar squeezed tighter around his neck, and Peter doubled over until he was kneeling on the ground, gasping to get  _ any  _ air into his lungs. He could feel the metal piercing his skin as he choked.  _ Fight through it _ , he thought desperately.  _ Wait it out. They won’t kill you, they wouldn’t kill you- _

_ But Toomes is not they _ .

Peter forced his red eyes up to make eye contact with Toomes, trying to convey a message of surrender. Thankfully, Toomes got it, and he released the collar - fully, this time, catching Peter by surprise as it dangled loosely around his neck.

Peter gasped, choking wildly as he fought for breath. He could feel Toomes watching him, but he stayed crouched on the ground, forcing air in and out of his lungs. Finally, when he regained his breath, he looked back up at Toomes. The man stared back without a hint of remorse.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Pedro,” he said simply. “I just figure you’ll need the breath for what’s about to happen next. If you struggle, of course, I can always tighten the collar and make it happen that way. It’s up to you.”

Peter considered his options. Die by asphyxiation, or drowning? With despair, Peter realized he would feel better in the water, knowing there was no hope for air, rather than being out of water and knowing he could breathe if not for the collar.

Slowly, Peter pushed himself up to his wobbly legs, shaking with anxiety - he didn’t think he had ever felt so terrified in his life - and took a trembling step towards the water.

“Good choice,” Toomes whispered as Peter passed and took his first step into the water. It reached up to his knees. “Just know, this is for my life. My family. My daughter.”

Openly sobbing and trembling like a leaf, Peter lowered himself down into the water until he was sitting upright, the water rising to just beneath his shoulders. He stared back up at Toomes, begging and pleading with his eyes for the man to just  _ show mercy _ \- but the next words he said sent a chill down Peter’s spine.

“Any final messages for your precious Tony and... Rogers?”

Peter thought for a moment, ignoring the pause before Steve’s name, though the answer had come to mind almost instantly. It was funny - or,  _ interesting _ , more like - how the right words only came when it was too late.

“Tell them…” Peter choked back a sob as he stared up at Toomes’ relentless, hardened expression. “Tell them I love them… and I’m sorry.”

A look of sadness and - a flair of hope grew Peter’s chest -  _ regret  _ crossed Toomes’ face, but in an instant, it was hardened back into that same glare.

“Aww. See, that was cute, but…” Toomes shrugged as he pulled out his remote once more. “I don’t think I will.”

Then, as Peter watched with hopelessness and despair filling his heart, Toomes pressed a fourth button.

Peter’s collar seemed to fill with lead, and it slammed backwards into the ground until Peter was lying flat, fully submerged under the water. There wasn’t enough time to take a breath.

The surface was just inches above him, and Peter tried - he tried, and he fought, and  _ strained  _ to break the surface, but his collar wouldn’t release, sitting heavy around his neck. Peter was glad it wasn’t tighter, or he would definitely be choking right now.

A weird, eerie silence came over him as the water flooded Peter’s ears. He stared above the surface at the distorted image of Toomes staring down at him, a satisfied expression visible on his face. Realizing this wasn’t the worst way to go, understanding there was no need for him to hold his breath when rescue wasn’t coming, Peter finally let go.

He had said what he needed to say. He loved Tony and Steve. He was sorry he had become  _ damaged  _ enough to force himself into this situation, to cause them to worry for such an undeserving cause. And, maybe it would be easier… on the other side. Less confusion. Peter had heard, if he made it to heaven, that it was a place of peace and happiness and contentedness - and if it was hell, well, he figured it couldn’t be much worse than this.

Now, he could finally let go.

Tears mixing easily with the water around him, Peter closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

◊ ◊ ◊

Shifting the note signed  _ A.T. _ to his left hand so he could dig his ringing phone out of his pocket with his right, Steve gasped when he saw the caller I.D.

_ Tony _ .

Steve’s hand trembled as he looked down at the photo accompanying the name. It was taken after one of the Avenger’s missions, when they were called to fight yet another group of people who thought themselves entitled and had tried to take over New York. It wasn’t a dangerous mission, but an exhausting one, and in the photo Tony sat with his head lying against Steve’s shoulder, his emotional walls down in the post-battle exhaustion. Peter was sprawled across their outstretched legs, mask being half-pulled off by Steve, his face lit up with laughter caused by post-battle delirium. Rhodes had taken the picture - well, his suit had recorded the scene in front of him as it did during every battle, but Steve had gone back later and (with Peter’s help) screenshotted it. With a jolt, Steve realized that Tony had no idea the photo even existed.

“Are you going to answer it?” Wanda droned from across the warehouse, where she was leaning against a wall. The two were beginning to form a plan to search for A.T. when Steve’s phone rang.

Steve shook the surprise out of his mind, pressed  _ Accept _ , and lifted the trembling phone to his ear, his heart thrumming loudly against his chest.

“Tony?” His voice was quiet, as he was scared to say the wrong thing, but it was definitely loud enough to be heard on the other side of the line - which was why Steve was so confused when there was no answer, just shaky breaths. “Babe, are you-”

“Don’t.” The single, strangled word sounded like it was ripped from the throat of the person on the other side of the line, so out of place that Steve could barely register who was speaking - but of course, he would never forget that voice. It was Tony.

“What? Honey-”

“ _ Don’t. _ Call. Me. That.” Each word sounded like it was being torn from between gritted teeth, and it put Steve’s spine up. He felt like he was dealing with a wild, wounded animal.

“I - I’m sorry… Tony.”

“Anthony.”

Steve was taken aback. “Tony, I don’t-”

“You can call me Anthony now.”

Steve felt like crying.

Tony  _ hated  _ his full name. It came from his father’s middle name, and Tony wanted to cut off ties with that man as soon as he could. The fact that he was asking Steve to call him by that name meant that Tony saw Steve as… as less than a friend, or even a stranger.

Tony saw Steve as an enemy.

_ Anthony  _ saw Steve as an enemy.

After (more than) a moment of regaining his posture, Steve realized the line had been quiet for too long.

“... Anthony.”

“ _ Steven _ . My son is missing. He better not be with you.”

Steve’s heart leapt into his chest. The part of the statement that first caught his attention, _my_ _son_ , was quickly overpowered by _is missing_.

“Peter’s missing?” Steve saw Wanda spring forward to stand at attention at the sound of his panicked voice.

“So clearly he’s not with you.” There was a sense of finality in Tony’s words, and Steve hurried to speak again before Tony hung up the phone. He didn’t even realize how much he’d missed the love of his life’s voice until he heard it again - but now, he needed Tony’s help.

“To- Anthony, wait,” Steve called into the phone, and there was silence on the other end - but not  _ dial tone  _ silence. Tony hadn’t hung up yet.

“Listen, I- I went after Sitwell.” Tony didn’t respond. “We didn’t find him, but we did find a note for him, signed by A.T.”

There was a curse on the other end.

“What, do you recognize-”

“Adrian Toomes.”

Steve cursed under his breath.  _ How could he forget? _ Steve had been there to lecture Peter through speaker phone via Tony’s suit after the poor kid was dropped into the river, and he had been there on homecoming night to rescue Peter from - Steve fought to repress a shudder - the collapsed building and bring him back to the med bay. Somehow, though, Peter had escaped and gone after the Vulture. That had earned him one month without Spider-Man patrols, two months without after-school excursions, and two very angry, albeit proud, dads.

“It…  _ can’t  _ be him,” Steve choked out, trying to erase the image of Peter’s broken, scratched, bleeding body on the hospital bed from his mind. Who would do that to a  _ fifteen-year-old?  _ “He was in jail. He should’ve never been let out, especially not on… on  _ good behaviour  _ or however he managed to escape.”

“That’s exactly what he did, that bastard,” Tony growled. “He escaped. What did the note say?”

Steve fumbled to hold the paper upright and steady his trembling hand.

“It says…  _ Get the data. Meet back at the rendezvous point.” _

“Rendezvous point?” Tony repeated, almost to himself. “Does it say anything about where that would be?”

Steve shook his head, them answered out loud once he remembered Tony couldn’t see him. “No. Wanda and I were just about to plan a search for it, or A.T. Whichever we found first.”

The mention of Wanda seemed to remind Tony of his prior motives, his prior hatred for Steve, and he was silent for a minute. Finally, seeming to decide his son came before his own betrayed emotions, Tony sighed.

“You search the forest around the compound,” he ordered. “Look for clues. I’ll search from above.” Tony called his suit to him with one hand, the other holding the phone up to his ear. Natasha, Rhodes, Sam, Bruce, and Bucky stood watching him anxiously as the suit began to form around him. Tony hung up the phone without another word, and the beginning of a  _ good-bye _ echoed quietly from the speaker until Tony placed the phone heavily on the table in front of him.

He met the worried eyes of the group around him.

“Peter’s not with Steve,” he announced steadily, not knowing whether that fact made him feel better or worse. “We don’t know where he is, but we  _ do  _ know - it wasn’t Sitwell who was behind his kidnapping. It was Adrian Toomes.”

“Toomes.” Sam mulled over the word for a bit. “Wasn’t he the one that tried to copy my wings?”

Tony felt like rolling his eyes. “Not yours exactly, but yes. The Vulture.” There were audible gasps from around the room.

“Isn’t that the son of a bitch that dropped a building on Peter?” Rhodes asked in disbelief.

“Whoa, whoa.” Bruce stepped forwards, arms raised as if to halt the conversation. “This guy can  _ lift buildings? _ ”

Tony couldn’t hold back his frustrated groan at those words. “Peter was in the parking garage, and he knocked out the support beams.”

Tony was hit by the sudden flashbacks of finding his son under crushed rubble, his broken sobs of  _ help  _ and  _ I’m down here _ echoing around the debris.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I need to find Peter. We don’t know if he ran away, or if he was…  _ taken  _ again. Steve is looking, too-” everyone’s spine seemed to bristle at his name- “but just because we need to cover more ground, and fast. I’m going to search from above-”

“Let me come with you.” Sam’s voice interrupted Tony’s monologue. “I have the wings. Plus, it was my words that spooked him.”

Rhodes stepped forward. “Sam, you know that’s not true-”

“I couldn’t hold back my anger when Peter… _showed_ us what Sitwell did to him. I said, ‘I’m going to kill him.’ Out of context….”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, yeah, Colonel, I know. It was just misinterpreted.” The Avengers seemed to be taken aback by Sam’s lack of self-loathing. “Nonetheless, it was still on me, and I want to help.” Tony nodded his approval.

“I’ll come, too,” Rhodes added, and the two turned and jogged away to retrieve their suits.

Bucky shared a look with Natasha before stepping forwards. “Nat and I can search the ground.” Natasha nodded her agreement, and Tony thanked them both as they followed Rhodes and Sam out the door. Now it was just Tony and Bruce, the latter of which was fiddling with the edges of his long sleeves.

“This… doesn’t seem like a  _ Code Green _ ,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I’ll wait here in case Peter comes back.” Tony nodded his thanks before giving a signal to FRIDAY inside his suit, and a panel of the roof began to slide open. Tony took off, immediately followed by Rhodes and Sam, now in their suits. Bucky and Natasha left next, running out of one of the many doors around the building.

Bruce watched them go, not even entertaining the idea of feeling sorry for his lack of fighting abilities. He just wanted his nephew back, and hoped his team brought Peter back safe - but something told him that wasn’t how things were going to turn out.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Wanda rush to find Peter. Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Rhodes, and Sam come later. Steve and Tony have a conversation.

Steve lost hope before even giving himself a chance to find it.

There was  _ nothing  _ to go off of. There was nothing in the room, and nothing outside. Nothing was left to lead Steve to his son.

While Steve had been searching for physical clues, Wanda had been sitting with her back against the warehouse, eyes closed, and hands held out in front of her. They were glowing a faint pink, a glow so gentle it could’ve been mistaken for a trick of the light. Steve didn’t know what she was doing, but he figured it was  _ something _ . After all, no matter her dislike for Steve (that she had made quite clear), she loved Peter, and this was for him.

There was nothing to be found. There were no footprints, no clues, no directions; barely a whisper in the trees.

But maybe that whisper was enough.

Wanda gasped suddenly, eyelids flickering open momentarily before squeezing shut. Steve whirled around with haste.

“I sense…  _ something _ . Something human….” Keeping her eyes closed, she moved her left hand until it was pointing off into the trees. “There.”

“What kind of human?”

Wanda opened her eyes then, letting her hands fall so she could glare at him.

“ _ What? _ ”

Steve shrugged, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I mean… is he - are  _ they  _ an adult, or a child….?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “It’s not like a pair of binoculars. I can’t actually  _ see  _ anything, I just sense thoughts.”

“Well, do those thoughts belong to an older person, or a younger one?”

Wanda groaned as she pushed herself to her feet. “Don’t worry, it’s not your precious  _ Stark _ ,” she spat as she passed him, walking in the direction her powers had pointed her. “I’ve been in his head enough to know these thoughts differ from his.”

Steve decided to let that comment slide as he jogged to catch up with her.

“You’ve seen in Peter’s head too, right? Are they  _ his  _ thoughts?”

“That was different,” Wanda answered, gentler now that she was dealing with  _ genuine _ curiosity, rather than selfish, ignorant pestering. “I was looking at his past, a rather traumatizing one. His thoughts while I was in his mind were different than what they might be now.”

“Well, did they show  _ traces  _ of being like what you saw before-”

“Shh.” Wanda hushed him sharply and closed her eyes, partly because she was getting a  _ massive  _ headache from Steve’s constant questions, and partly because she had to focus. The thoughts were so far away, she merely sensed their existence, and had to focus to decipher anything from them.

Her eyes shot open as soon as she found what she was looking for.

She began to jog in a direction slightly left of their original path, then used her powers to lift herself off the floor, Steve picking up speed behind her.

“What?” Steve asked, panicked, from just behind her as he easily kept up.

As she followed the trail, Wanda could begin to decipher the thoughts more easily, understanding who was forming them, and even some words,  _ goodbye _ being the most prominent. It just urged her on faster.

“The thoughts are Peter’s.”

Steve was silent for the rest of his run.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve picked up his speed as soon as the old building came into view amongst the trees, not even hesitating before busting straight through the nearest wall, Wanda not far behind. The man he saw inside only increased his anger.

Steve ran right up to Toomes and punched him square in the jaw, sending him tumbling backward.

“Where is he?” Steve demanded, standing over Toomes as the man lay crouched on the ground - but he refused to respond, giving only a bloody grin in response.

“Steve, he’s here.”

All anger was immediately washed away as Steve turned to look at where Wanda was standing.

She was kneeling beside a pool of water, with about the same dimensions of a  _ coffin _ \- Steve made the heart-stopping realization - except rectangular, and looking down at something inside it.

Some _ one _ , Steve realized in fear, and ran to her side.

Steve stared down into the water, stared down at his  _ son  _ in the water.

Peter’s face was almost peaceful as he lay still, eyes closed. There was a thick piece of metal wrapped around his neck, and his hands were hidden from view, somewhere underneath him. Small tufts of his curls were drifting in the water as it flowed around him.

A heavy feeling of despair hit Steve’s heart. Meanwhile, he could practically feel Wanda bristling with anger beside him.

Life seemed to resume all at once.

Steve sprung into action after what felt like forever trying to get his muscles to move, plunging his hands under the water to attempt to wrap around Peter’s shoulders to pull him up, to no avail. Something was acting as an adhesive, fixing Peter to the ground.

Toomes let out a wet laugh choked with blood from his spot on the floor, but after a single flick of Wanda’s hand, he wasn’t laughing anymore. As Steve worked, he faintly heard a crack from somewhere behind him. He hoped it was the sound of Toomes’ neck being snapped. (It was.)

Wanda refocused her attention on the boy in front of her, trying to focus on  _ getting him out _ rather than the fact that his chest wasn’t moving, and it might’ve been too late.

“Move,” she demanded, no time for more words to be said. Steve complied immediately as he stood to watch from a distance, his face forming a frown at the lack of  _ help  _ he could be providing. His heart sped up with every passing second Peter was under that water, and his brain followed twenty different paths.

_ How did Toomes escape? _

_ How did he find Peter? _

_ Why wasn’t Peter moving? _

_ How long had he been under there? _

_ What happens if I lose my son? _

_ How will I tell Tony? _

A faint red glow was reflecting off the top of the water and suddenly Peter was levitated out, lying stiff as he was in the water. The restraints that had been securing Peter to the floor looked like they had been melted and re-cooled, but Steve didn’t understand how Wanda could’ve done that, nor did he care.

He moved quickly to reach for Peter in the air. He gripped his son in a bridal carry and lowered him to the ground as Wanda slowly weaned off her powers, removing the metal cuffs and hurling them against the far wall as she did so. They broke on impact.

Steve put his hand against Peter’s nose, waiting to feel a breath, an intake of air,  _ anything _ .

He felt nothing.

His hands were strangely steady, the adrenaline keeping him sane as he moved his ear to Peter’s chest to listen for a heartbeat.

Wanda stood above him, watching with wide eyes as Steve sat, frozen.

“Steve?” Her voice shook as she looked down at the boy she had began to think of like a younger brother, lying unmoving. Steve sighed heavily and slowly lifted his head to stare at Wanda.

His eyes were wide and red, cheeks stained from tears. His hands were trembling as he pulled them up to grasp at his face… and he shook his head.

Wanda stared down in horror at her friend and his son, and the only word that came to her mind was  _ no _ . She was _ not  _ going to allow this happen. She had lost so many people in her life, including her first brother. She was not about to lose another one.

Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stepped determinedly towards Peter, dropping once again to her knees at his side. She forced her trembling hands to still as she slowly raised them in front of her.

“Wanda….” Steve tried to stop her solemnly, but Wanda shook her head.

“I need silence, Steve.” Her voice was surprisingly calm and steady for what she was about to do, and Steve complied. Wanda took a deep breath before closing her eyes… and flexing her fingers.

In her mind’s eye, Wanda visualized red tendrils floating from the tips of her fingers and into an x-ray version of Peter’s body. She prayed that she remembered human anatomy correctly from school as she centred the tendrils around Peter’s heart, surrounding it on all sides like a second skin.

_ It doesn’t matter if you fail, _ a voice in her head reminded her.  _ He’s gone anyways. _

_ Then I have nothing to lose,  _ Wanda argued back, and she shooed the voice away as she focused all her attention on the boy in her mind’s eye, and began compressions.

_ One _ . Wanda took a deep breath.

_ Two _ . She envisioned the tendrils constricting.

_ Three _ . She bit back her tears.

_ Four _ . She heard Steve sobbing from beside her.

_ Five _ . She forced herself not to do the same.

_ Six _ . She prayed for something to happen.

_ Seven _ . Peter would be okay.

_ Eight _ . He still wasn’t responding.

_ Nine _ . Wanda was crying.

_ Ten _ . She was beginning to lose hope.

_ Eleven _ . Her hands were moving on autopilot.

_ Twelve _ . She felt something give.

_ Thirteen _ . Peter took a breath.

Wanda collapsed, rocking back on her heels as Peter began to choke, gasping heavily as water drooled from his mouth. Suddenly, Steve was at Wanda’s side, nudging her (rather forcefully) away as he quickly pushed Peter up onto his side and rubbed his back soothingly, helping to push all the water out.

The next moments seemed to be the longest of Wanda’s life. Would Peter get all the water out? Did Wanda harm him as she was doing the compressions? Did Toomes do anything else to Peter that would affect him now?

After what felt like an eternity, Peter’s chokes turned to gasps, then to heavy breaths. Wanda watched his shoulders heave as Steve held him, and didn’t realize she was crying until she saw Steve doing the same.

When Peter’s breaths finally evened out, Steve lifted the boy until he was crushed against his dad’s chest, head resting on Steve’s shoulder. Peter was dripping wet, and was now drenching Steve, but it didn’t seem like either cared. Peter had his eyes closed and was panting heavily from relief, while Steve was crying for the same reason as he put a hand on the back of Peter’s head and held him closer.

Wanda allowed herself to close her eyes and try to breathe, to calm down. Her fingers were twitching. Being forced to gently apply so much force was exhausting, and she was beginning to feel the effects as her entire body seemed to tremble.

She didn’t have much time to compose herself, because just at that moment, an Iron Man suit came flying in through the far wall, gauntlets raised.

When Tony came flying in, he expected a fight. He expected to see Toomes with his vulture wings on, flying towards him, talons out.

What he found was almost worse.

Toomes was lying dead in a corner, neck at an unusual angle (which sucked, because that was what  _ Tony  _ wanted to do), but what Tony saw in the middle of the room was what  _ really  _ caught his attention.

There was Wanda, kneeling with her hands a faint tinge of red, looking up at Tony with wide eyes. Beside her was Steve, kneeling beside a small pool, clutching a dripping wet Peter flush against his chest. The sight of Peter made his heart skip a beat. Suddenly, everything connected in his brain.

Toomes. The pool of water. The fact that Peter was dripping wet. The fact that Peter  _ wasn’t moving _ .

Tony swallowed down his feelings of worry. A quick glance at the expression on Steve’s face showed that Peter was okay - or, he wasn’t dead, at least. Steve, on the other hand, looked like he had been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, except with more terror, like he knew what he was doing was so insanely wrong, he was past the point of saving.

He was right.

Without a second thought, Tony held up his gauntlets, one focused on Steve, and the other on Wanda. What was she doing here, anyway?

“Step away from my son,” he threatened through gritted teeth, “or you’re getting a bullet in your skull.”

Steve looked scared, but not for himself. He quickly flashed his eyes down to Peter, then back up to Tony, just as Peter turned his head away from Steve’s shoulder as he blinked his eyes up at Tony.

“Dad?”

That one word was all it took for Tony’s walls to come crashing down.

“Yeah. Yeah, kid.” Tony disengaged the suit and stumbled out of it to kneel a few steps in front of Steve, eyes solely on his son, and not the man who had betrayed him. “I’m here.”

Peter’s wide eyes blinked up at Tony as his mouth turned up into a small, watery smile, before it crashed into a bout of tears and he fell into Tony’s arms.

Tony caught Peter easily and squeezed his eyes shut as he held his son close, as close as he possibly could. With one arm wrapped around Peter’s torso and the other pressing the boy’s face against his shoulder, Tony began to cry.

This was his kid. This was  _ Iron Man’s  _ kid. Iron Man couldn’t protect his child from not one, but  _ two  _ kidnappings. He could save the entire city - _ why couldn’t he protect his child? _

Peter sobbed into Tony’s chest at the sounds of other people entering the room through the hole in the wall. Tony turned his head wildly, keeping Peter safely tucked against his chest. The Iron Man suit responded to his emotions and held up the gauntlets, ready to fire, until Tony saw who was entering the room.

Natasha was first to climb through the hole in the wall, followed by Bucky. Alarm bells went off in Tony’s head, but he couldn’t identify why. Something was telling him that Natasha, and Bucky, and Wanda and Steve and  _ everyone  _ was dangerous - he couldn’t trust anyone anymore - but when Tony saw the hatred in the newcomer’s eyes when they looked at Steve, he exhaled deeply in relief. These people, at least, were safe.

Peter began to whimper against Tony’s chest, and Tony began to shush his son quietly, running a hand up and down his back.

“You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you.” Tony closed his eyes and planted his chin atop Peter’s head, beginning to gently rock them back and forth. He didn’t know whether it was to calm Peter, or himself. “I swear, I’m not letting anyone touch you again.”

The sounds of hushed words caused Tony to open his eyes and look behind him to where Natasha and Bucky were having an intense conversation with Steve, while Wanda stood silently off to the side, watching.

Hatred crawled its way up Tony’s spine at the sight of Steve, who looked like he was trying to defend himself. Tony knew it was a losing battle. Steve would  _ never  _ be able to make up for his mistakes - at least, not in Tony’s eyes.

The increasing commotion was suddenly increased when two new presences joined the group. Rhodes and Sam came flying through the hole in the wall, both ready for a fight, but they lowered their weapons as soon as they saw what was happening.

Rhodes disengaged the suit and hurried to Tony’s side as Sam stormed straight up to Steve, disappearing from Tony’s line of vision. Tony looked up at Rhodes as he sat a few feet away, and the two shared a moment of  _ how did we get into this mess _ before Peter began to squirm in Tony’s arms. The two men looked down at him suddenly as Peter’s head turned to look at Rhodes.

“Uncle Rhodey,” Peter whined quietly, and Rhodes looked like his heart was breaking and doubling in size all at once. He nodded, tears beginning to form in his eyes, and opened his arms, guiding Peter from Tony’s lap into his own chest.

“Peter,” Rhodes murmured into his hair. Tony watched, upset with the context, but content that Peter was open to communication again. (Tony wondered  _ why  _ Peter was so open all of a sudden, but he figured there would be time to figure it out later.)

“Hey, bud,” Rhodes continued, and Peter looked up at him, smiling slightly. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Tony held his breath. He didn’t know whether or not Peter would respond, whether or not he was  _ healthy  _ enough to respond.

Peter cleared his throat and sat up straighter.

“‘M feeling kind of tired.”

Rhodes laughed, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Tony watched in glee. “Yeah, I guess you would be.” Then, he looked up at Tony, and moved his gaze to Steve - then, he jerked his head outside. He was asking a question with an unclear meaning, but an obvious destination - either,  _ You talk to Steve outside _ , or,  _ I’ll take Peter home _ . Either way, the message was,  _ Keep Peter away from Steve. _

Tony nodded, expression grim, and whispered, “Take him home.” Then he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Peter’s hair. The boy hummed contently.

“Alright, Peter,” Rhodes said softly, and Tony admired how he stood so easily while holding a fifteen-year-old kid. “How do you feel about going back home?”

Tony smiled at them and just heard Peter answer, “ _ Please _ ,” before he turned to face Steve. The sound of repulsors fading into the background convinced him Peter was out of the way, that he was safe. Now, it was time for Tony to get his revenge on the man who had essentially kidnapped his kid.

All conversations stopped as soon as Tony joined the row of Natasha, Bucky, and Sam against Steve, whose faces are all red. Tony said nothing as he stepped forward and stared defiantly into Steve’s eyes. Though Steve was taller, Tony was fueled by a mission unmatched by any Steve could possibly have - the defense of his son.

The longer Tony looked at Steve’s guilt-ridden face, the more rage filled him, until he was practically fuming.

“I promised myself that I would kill you if I ever saw you again,” Tony growled, stepping closer. Steve was forced to take a step back.

“An-Anthony, please-” The name sounded like it pained Steve to say, and Tony was glad.

“No, you -  _ shut up _ ,” Tony shouted, pressing a finger to Steve’s chest. “You gave away our son.  _ Our son _ , Steve! You gave him to - to  _ HYDRA _ , and why? To save your  _ own  _ reputation? To protect what people thought of  _ you? _ ”

“Anth-”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ cut me off, Rogers!” Tony’s teeth grit against each other as his hand clenched into a fist against Steve’s chest. “He was  _ tortured _ . Kidnapped, malnourished. Fuck, he was cut into like an  _ experiment! _ ” Tony bit his bottom lip,  _ hard _ , to keep from crying right then and there, and he drew blood. “Because of  _ you _ .”

The room was overcome by a sudden silence. Tony stared at Steve, and Steve at him. Tony was expecting anything. He was expecting Steve to yell back at him, or to physically fight him, or to even run out. Heck, he was praying for it.

He didn’t expect Steve to start crying.

“I know,” Steve whispered as his shoulders hunched inward. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s my fault-”

“Damn right it is.”

“ _ Tony _ .” Sam put a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder, stepping forward to be in line with the man. “Hear him out.”

Tony shrugged off Sam’s hand and whipped his head around to stare at him. “ _ Hear him out?  _ This is the man that gave my son to a fucking terrorist organization.”

Sam visibly tensed. “ _ Yes _ ,” he said through gritted teeth, “and now he’s trying to explain himself, so let’s just - just hold back for a second on the killing, man, alright?”

Tony glared at him for a moment, before finally nodding once sharply and looking back to Steve.

“Talk.”

Steve looked like he was about to collapse from relief as he thought of what to say.

“You - You know I didn’t actually hand Peter over,” he started, and Tony scoffed. Steve looked at him warily before continuing. “I gave Sitwell his DNA, but Sitwell took him from me.”

“You didn’t fight very hard to get him back,” Tony challenged, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Steve sighed as he looked down, shuffling his feet.

“I didn’t.” He looked back up and met Tony’s eyes. “I - I just wanted to understand the limits of his powers. It was for his own safety.”

“And you giving him over to HYDRA, was that for his safety, too?” Tony seethed, and Steve took a step back.

“Please, Anthony, Sitwell said it was only for a day, and after that… I tried my hardest to get him back once I realized Sitwell had lied, okay? I promise you, I did everything in my power after those 24 hours.”

“But you didn’t try hard enough.” Tony’s voice sounded hollow, his eyes in pain. This was the man he had trusted enough to raise a child with. This was the first, the _only_ person he had ever truly _loved_ \- and he had let him down.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness-”

“Good, because you’re not getting any.”

“Please, Tony.” Steve stepped forward, eyes sad and begging, and gripped Tony’s hands in his own. Tony wanted to step away, but Steve looked like a kicked puppy. Standing like this, with only the two of them, Tony could see all the things he had missed during the recent events. He could see Steve, as he once saw him. Tony could see the pure love and devotion in the man’s eyes, and the respect they held. He could see all the memories the two of them shared, from battles to movie nights to date nights, and everything in between.

He could see Peter as a young child, moving from one parent to the other, because he couldn’t choose a favourite. He could see Steve bringing Peter down to infiltrate his workshop, and Tony could see himself reaching out to take Peter in his arms as the boy focused on something in the corner - Captain America’s shield. He could see Steve bringing the shield to baby Peter, and Tony could see his son grip the heavy metal in his arms, supported by his partner. Steve was protecting his love and his son, the only way he knew how.

What had happened to their relationship… and could they get it back?

“Okay,” Tony finally conceded. His voice was quiet, as if he himself doubted what he was consenting to, but Steve’s face lit up like New York city, and Tony knew Steve had heard him. “Come back to the compound. We’ll….” Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. He couldn't believe he was about to give Steve a second chance. “We’ll figure it out.”

Relief crashed Steve’s face, and his lips broke into a wide smile.

“Thank you, Tony - gosh,  _ thank you _ -”

“Hold on.” Tony held up his hand, and Steve fell silent, eyes wide. “Steve, I-” Tony sighed, taking a step back. He needed space. He needed to  _ breathe _ . “Steve, you know I can’t forgive you. At least, not right away.” Steve’s face fell, and he nodded. “We can try to work this out, but honestly-”

“It may not,” Steve finished for him, voice hoarse and eyes sad. Tony nodded slowly, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“But we can try,” Tony amended, smiling softly. He took Steve’s hands and gripped them in his own. “We can try.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells the group the full extent of what happened to him in captivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: descriptions of various methods of torture
> 
> Phew, this was a really intense chapter to write - I actually had to step away from my laptop and take a ten minute breather once I had finished 😬 I hope you guys enjoy it <3

The walk back to the compound was a tense one. Natasha and Bucky led the way, while Sam brought up the rear, leaving Steve and Tony in the middle to…  _ talk _ , but none of that was really happening.

For once in his life, Tony felt like he was the tallest, standing tall and determined beside Steve’s hunched, defeated form. Tony didn’t want to initiate conversation. It wasn’t  _ his  _ responsibility to bridge this relationship; Steve had screwed up. Tony wouldn’t do his work for him.

Needless to say, nothing got resolved.

The minute the group got back to the compound, the first thing Tony wanted to do was check on Peter. He pushed past Natasha and Bucky and ran through the front door, eyes searching wildly for where Rhodes had taken his kid. Tony needed to see that Peter was okay.

Tony ran through the halls, panic rising with every room that turned up empty, until he heard voices coming from upstairs.

He ran up the stairs, two at a time, passing the group at the door as he went. Tony barely spared them a glance as he passed, but he heard their footsteps behind him. They were following him, but Tony didn’t even look back as he reached the landing and followed the voices. They were coming from Peter’s room.

Tony came to a halt at Peter’s doorway, heart beating like a bird in a cage, and almost collapsed in relief when he saw what was inside.

Peter was sitting up on his bed, back slightly hunched from exhaustion, looking up at Rhodes -  _ staring him in the eye _ . Bruce was standing beside the bed, watching the two with a smile. Rhodes said something, and Peter gave a small smile… and  _ laughed _ .

Tony wanted to cry of happiness.

He must’ve reacted out loud, because then Peter looked to the doorway and made eye contact with him. Tony froze, even going as far as to hold his breath, and watched Peter stare at him with confusion, then realization, and finally…  _ love _ .

“Dad.” Peter smiled, and Tony’s heart felt like it was about to burst. He rushed to Peter’s side, passing a smiling Rhodes exiting the room on his way. Tony fell to Peter’s bed and immediately reached for him, but hesitated at the last moment.

_ Was he still hesitant to touch? How healed was he? _

All doubts were forgotten when Peter practically dove into Tony’s arms, and Tony caught him without a second thought, letting the kid curl into a ball against Tony’s chest. Tony wrapped himself tightly around the kid, as if he could guard and protect him from any dangers the world would throw Peter’s way.

_ Too little, too late _ , a voice reminded him solemnly, but Tony quieted it with his own voice as he whispered soft comforts into Peter’s hair, and rocked the two of them back and forth gently.

“Are you okay?” Tony whispered as he held his son close. He felt Peter nod against his chest.

“I am now.”

Tony could sense presences all around him, but there was one that was too close for comfort. Tony whipped his head to the side, a low, instinctive growl rising from his throat when he saw Steve taking a step towards the two of them.

“He’s my kid, too,” Steve said softly, taking another step closer. Tony was about to snap at him, and saw Natasha from behind stepping forward to pull Steve back, when Peter shifted against his chest. He turned his head to look up at Steve, and Tony instinctively held him closer - but Peter fought his grip and straightened in Tony’s lap.

“Pops,” he called, and shakily pushed himself to his feet. Tony’s eyes widened in a mix of surprise and hatred. Peter didn’t know. Peter  _ didn’t know _ , and he was about to walk into the hands of the person who had gotten him into this situation.

A strangled sound ripped its way from Tony’s throat. “Peter, don’t-” But it was too late. Steve was already opening his arms and tucking Peter against his chest, the boy wrapping his arms around his Pops.

Tony rose from the bed, stiff as a soldier, a positively murderous look in his eyes - and he was sure everyone else noticed, because soon there were people stepping towards him from all sides, Rhodes in the lead.

“Tones,” he muttered, not wanting Peter to hear. Rhodes stepped between Tony and his son, practically aliating the two and trapping Peter with his kidnapper.

Tony was having none of it.

He shoved Rhodes aside and stepped around him, and the man wasn’t determined enough to stop him. To be fair,  _ no one  _ thought Steve was in the right here. No one thought he deserved this, this forgiveness.

Suddenly, there was a new presence in front of Tony, one the man wasn’t used to being around. Tony looked up questioningly, and was met with Bucky’s dark eyes looking down at him, his metal arm held across Tony’s chest. Tony wordlessly tried to push past it, but Bucky wasn’t moving. He kept his arm fixed in its position, keeping Tony away from his son.

“Let me past, Barnes,” he challenged, not even looking up at the man, but Bucky kept his arm clenched fast. Tony continued to struggle, the only sight in his vision being Steve hugging  _ Tony’s  _ son, and Tony needed to stop it, because any minute now Sitwell would walk through that door, bringing Toomes behind him, and Steve would hand Peter over  _ again _ , and Tony would lose his son  _ again _ -

“Outside,” Bucky said quietly, and tightened his arm around Tony’s shoulder as he turned the man and pushed him to the doorway of the bedroom. Tony shrugged his arm out of Bucky’s grip and straightened his shoulders, walking out of the door with an unhealthy amount of tension in his entire body. The rest of the group formed a path for him to leave, all except for Bruce, who stepped in front of Tony and led the way out. Tony barely spared the others a glance.

Tony followed Bruce out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, finally coming to a stop at the kitchen table. Bruce pulled out a chair and gestured for Tony to sit, but Tony fixed him with a defiant, cocked eyebrow and crossed his arms, instead opting to lean against the doorframe. Bruce sighed and took his own spot in the chair, and Bucky remained standing behind Tony.

Tony knew what they were doing - distracting him so he couldn’t go and kill Steve. It was a good plan. There was no way Tony was getting passed Bucky, at least, not without his suit. Problem was, Tony  _ did  _ have his suit, so whenever the time was right, he could call it to him and fly up to Steve, torture him like he tortured Peter. They had a good plan, but Tony had a better one.

Bruce sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Look, Tony. We all hate Steve.”

Oh. Tony  _ didn’t  _ know what they were doing.

“... Yeah,” Tony answered, “so let me kill him.” Bruce just shook his head, and Tony pushed off of the wall behind him to step forward. “Look, Bruce, right now, the kid he kidnapped, the one he essentially allowed to be tortured, is back in his arms. Peter thinks he’s  _ safe _ . How is he supposed to defend himself if he never sees it coming?”

“He’s also surrounded by Natasha, Sam, Rhodes, and Wanda,” Bucky contributed, not moving from his spot in the doorway. “He’s safe, Tony, I promise you.”

“We thought that before, too.”

Bucky looked to the floor, and Tony was suddenly reminded of how close he and Steve used to be, how much Bucky had trusted him - and how Steve did to a kid what had previously been done to his best friend.

“This time, it’s different,” Bucky answered after a minute. “Now, we know that Steve…” he sighed, his face contorting as if in pain- “can’t be trusted, so we’ll be more careful.”

“More careful?” Tony echoed in disbelief. “I don’t want my son near him at all.”

“Listen, Tony.” Bruce stood from his chair and took a step closer to the two of them. Tony had to force himself not to tense. “No one trusts Steve, I promise you. We’re all feeling what you’re feeling-”

“Doubt it.”

“... more or less,” Bruce continued, breathing deeply, patience running thin. “Here’s the thing. We have to  _ try _ to listen to him, understand his story. If not for personal reasons, at least for the Avengers. We can’t lose Captain America.  _ The world  _ can’t lose him.”

“What about Spider-Man, huh?” Tony argued, voice growing louder with every word. “Can we lose him?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“We almost did, Bruce!” Tony shouted. He felt an arm on his shoulder, Bucky trying to calm him down, but Tony wouldn’t concede. “We almost lost him, because Steve Rogers, Captain America, Peter’s father, whichever title you want to lose, handed him over to HYDRA, and  _ I can’t forgive that _ .”

There was a heavy silence in the air. Anger boiled up in Tony’s veins as he stared at Bruce… but Bruce wasn’t looking back at him - Bruce was looking at something  _ behind  _ him. Something on the stairs.

Tony turned with a start, and came face-to-face with Peter’s wide, scared eyes. Natasha and Rhodes were behind him, staring at Tony with a look somewhere between cautioning and defeat. Sam and Wanda were behind the group at the top of the stairs, Sam standing slightly in front of Steve (putting a barrier between him and Peter, Tony realized), and Wanda had her fingers tensed at her side, glowing a faint pink, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

Tony noticed all this in the time it took Peter to step off the stairs, closer to Tony. His brow was furrowed, and he looked worried as he continued to move until he was right in front of Tony, looking up at him.

The entire room seemed to be holding their breath. How much had Peter heard? What questions was he going to ask? How was Steve going to react? Would he… would he  _ try  _ anything?

Peter’s voice was quiet and soft as he said three words.

“Pops did this?”

Tony looked up at Steve, heart beating loudly in his chest. Steve stared back, eyes wide, seemingly begging for Tony to deny it… but he  _ couldn’t _ . Tony couldn’t ignore what Steve had done. He was never going to feel safe if Steve was around his kid, so… so Tony had to tell Peter. He had to. He had no other choice.

Tony looked back down to Peter, tears beginning to form in his eyes - in  _ both  _ of their eyes, actually. Tony had lost his partner, and Peter had lost his father. How had it come to this?

Tony slowly brought himself to his knees until he was staring up at Peter, unaware if it was to comfort Peter, or because he felt too weak to continue to stand. Tony grabbed Peter’s hands and held them in his own, but Peter didn’t react - he just continued to stare at Tony, unblinking, waiting for an answer.

Tony sighed, looking at the floor, then making eye contact with his son. “Yeah,” Tony answered simply, and it seemed as though everyone let out a breath - though, not out of relief, but because the worst was presumably over.

“Tony, that’s not-” Steve tried to take a step down the stairs, but Sam turned to block him, and Wanda held a hand in front of his chest. Steve sighed and stepped back. “That’s not what happened. Peter, please-”

“What happened?” Peter kept his eyes focused on Tony, his voice hoarse but his expression unchanging. If anything, his eyes hardened, and Tony could see his defenses going up.

“Baby, what names do you remember from… from when  _ they  _ had you?”

Peter shook his head and looked to the floor. “They didn’t tell me any. I didn’t hear any talking, except yelling and instructions from - from the doctors-”

Peter took a deep breath to try to calm himself down, and Tony was in awe of just how strong his son was.

“There was a man named Jasper Sitwell,” Tony explained quietly, and everyone in the room tensed. Steve even turned his back to the group. “Your Pops…  _ Steve _ , was hunting down HYDRA bases when he found Sitwell, and to try to save himself, Sitwell offered to… test your powers, find the limits.”

Tony hesitated momentarily to gauge Peter’s reaction, but the kid wasn’t responding. He just stood still, barely even twitching a finger. His expression was neutral, but guarded, and Tony worried what would happen when his walls came down.

“Steve wanted to know these limits, so he could protect you, keep you safe, and so he gave Sitwell your toothbrush for DNA, but… it wasn’t enough.” Retelling the story, Tony began to think. What would  _ he  _ have done if he was in Steve’s shoes?  _ Kill Sitwell on the spot, that’s what _ , Tony realized with slight amusement at the thought, and his hatred for Steve only grew.

“So Steve, he… allowed Sitwell to take you-”

“Those are lies,” Steve shouted suddenly, pushing past Sam’s off-guard arm to walk down the stairs. Wanda held her hands up, ready to defend Peter, but Sam put a gentle hand on top of her own, and she slowly lowered them. Natasha and Rhodes moved to the sides of the bottom step, forming a path for Steve to walk through, glaring at him as he passed.

Steve reached the bottom of the stairs and moved to stand beside Peter, so he was just inside Tony’s line of sight. Peter released Tony’s right hand and turned so he was partly facing either of his parents.

“Peter, Sitwell took you without my consent. I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it-”

“Oh, bullshit, Rogers,” Tony shouted, releasing Peter’s hand so he could push himself to his feet and step challengingly toward Steve. “You let him go, under the premise of safety for your son, just so  _ your  _ precious reputation could be saved.”

“That wasn’t the reason, and you know it,” Steve shouted back, moving forward until he and Tony were only a few inches apart. “It was for him.  _ His  _ safety. How would you feel if he was in a battle as Spider-Man, and  _ you  _ sent him off into a mission he wasn’t equipped for?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, and his expression was set as stone - firm and unwavering. “That’s different,” he spat through gritted teeth, “and I wouldn’t do that, because I know his limits. And if I didn’t, there were other ways to figure it out!”

“What, by  _ asking  _ him? You think he could tell you? You think he  _ knows _ -”

“I do now!” Peter yelled suddenly, and Tony snapped his head to look at his kid. “I have your numbers, Steve,” he spat, his eyes cold, and Tony was so, incredibly proud of his beautiful, brave child. “You know how I got them?”

Steve’s face was flushed, and he looked embarrassed, but he waited for Peter’s answer nonetheless.

“They tortured me.” Tony’s breath was knocked out of him. “And I was awake for every second of it.”

Tony’s hatred for Steve, his pride in his kid, was suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of exactly what Peter had to endure.  _ Tortured _ . It was such a powerful word with too much weight for a fifteen-year-old to carry, but Peter had to endure it repeatedly for  _ two months _ .

Tony’s head spun and he regarded Peter with something between worry, pity, and fear, but Peter wasn’t looking at him. He only had eyes for Steve.

“Thanks to them,” Peter said coldly, his expression firm as he stepped towards Steve, “Thanks to  _ you _ , I now have statistics that I didn’t know before, so you got what you wanted, right?”

Steve shook his head suddenly, and he fell to his knees in front of Peter. “Please, sweetheart, you know that’s not what I wanted-”

Peter stumbled backward, looking like he had gotten punched in the stomach, the breath knocked out of him.

“Pete?” Tony tried to step towards his kid, but Peter held his arms up in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” Peter repeated, staring horrified at Steve. “Sweetie. That was  _ you _ .” All eyes turned to Steve, the man seeming to shrink in on himself more and more by the second. “My captors… that’s all they would call me, alongside  _ mutt _ and  _ animal _ and  _ thing  _ and  _ it _ .” Tony flinched at every new name. “But sweetheart… you told them to call me that, didn’t you?”

“Please, sw- Peter, it was only to provide you comfort-”

“ _ Didn’t you? _ ” Peter stormed forward until he was leaning over Steve’s hunched over form, and Steve couldn’t even look him in the eyes, instead staring dutifully at the floor.

“Yes.”

Peter just shook his head. “Only to provide me comfort,” he muttered with a scowl. “Do you want to know why it  _ didn’t _ provide me comfort? Do you want to know what they were doing while using that word to induce the  _ opposite  _ response in me?”

The rest of the room was silent, no one daring to take a breath as Peter stared down at Steve. Peter was… he was  _ angry _ . No one had ever heard this fifteen-year-old boy so  _ livid  _ before, especially not after two months of what was essentially radio silence and a few days of sheepish, one-word answers.

No one had any idea what to do.

“Let’s begin with the weapons they used, shall we?” His voice was so cold and so…  _ unlike  _ Peter, that Tony was  _ scared _ . He didn’t know what to do, or how to react - so he stood still and listened, trying to control his oncoming panic attack, keep it at bay long enough to hear what his kid had to say.

“They led me around with ropes,” he growled, shoving his wrists forward, facing upward, forcing Steve to look down on them. “Look, you can still see the red impressions, the marks they left behind - actually, no, those ones are chains. But this….” He pointed to his neck, and Steve looked up, eyes wide and red-rimmed. There was a ring of agitated, red skin; a faint, but still distinct, rope burn. Peter smiled, a cruel, humourless, crooked smirk. “They led me around by my neck.”

Tony wanted to throw up.

“Peter,” Steve begged from the floor, words thick with tears. “Please, I-”

“Don’t you want the results you worked so hard, gave up everything, to get?” Peter shouted, and Steve went silent. “See, but the ropes and chains were the least of my worries, because they also whipped me. Tried to see how long it took my skin to break.”

A strangled sound was ripped from Tony’s throat as Peter turned and pulled up his shirt, revealing his back, which was covered in red marks and lines, and the occasional healed-over skin in the shape of a belt buckle. He let his shirt fall and turned back to Steve, his expression still emotionless.

Tony didn’t realize he was crying until he couldn’t see through the tears.

“Though, even that wasn’t  _ too  _ bad, because they manipulated my skin in  _ other _ ways. Cut into it with knives, but if they wanted to get even  _ more  _ intense, well, they used hooks, and glass, just scratching me over and over. Sometimes if I broke a Rule, other times, just for fun. They had a lot of fun.” Peter gave a humourless laugh, and Tony allowed himself to focus on the faces behind Peter, on the stairs.

Natasha’s wide, horror-filled eyes. Rhodes’ hands clenched in fists at his side. Sam’s gaping mouth, and Wanda - she was nowhere to be seen.

And Steve, crying openly on the floor.

“I now know how long it takes my skin to burn,” Peter bellowed, and Tony saw Rhodes reach out and grab the stair banister for support. “They set me alight, timed it until I screamed. They didn’t do it too often, though. That would’ve been too quick of a death, and they had other things planned.”

Tony stumbled backward, gripping the kitchen island behind him for support. He couldn’t listen anymore. He couldn’t hear how they had hurt his kid. He couldn’t hear about all the horrors Peter was subject to, all the ways he had been  _ hurt _ .

But Peter kept talking.

Peter’s voice dropped to a dangerously quiet volume. “And then,” he whispered, “when all was said and done… they tested my lung capacity. Locked me in a gas chamber, buried me alive….” Tony heard a sob. At this point, it could’ve been coming from anyone in the room…  _ except  _ for Peter. He was still in a frozen, emotionless state.

“They even shoved my face underwater,” he said gently, “and held me there until I passed out. And sometimes, they threw some wires in there with me.”

Tony was hit by a sudden wave of flashbacks of Afghanistan, of his head being shoved underwater until he screamed, of clutching a car battery to his chest so he didn’t die, of wishing, begging, hoping, praying to a god he didn’t believe in,  _ any  _ god that would listen, for rescue.

In his own case, rescue came in time for him to heal himself, create his own, new life. In the case of Peter, Tony wondered if rescue had come too late.

Peter went quiet for a minute, and everyone… everyone  _ tried  _ to catch their breath, to recollect their repose, to remember times when their innocent nephew didn’t have to deal with any of this - but those memories were from a long time ago, and they weren’t sure if the Peter Parker they had just gotten back was at least  _ partly  _ the same person of who he had been before… or a completely different one.

“Now,” he said quietly with a scary sense of calm, “for the Rules.”

“Peter,” Steve whispered through his sobs. “Please, you don’t have to-”

“Now,” Peter repeated louder, “for the Rules.

“There were ten. There were the lighter ones, like no eye contact, no sleeping, no emotion, no speaking or screaming, show respect, only act if told to.” This was the first time Peter was reciting the Rules  _ without  _ being told to, without any sense of obligation - and it felt  _ freeing _ . He smiled another crooked smile., and saw the faces in the room fill with horror. “Those ones just earned me cuts along my arms, little nicks. Some were deeper than others, but, you know, they all blended together after a while.

“Then came the bigger ones. No trying to escape. See, I tried once, but then they hung me from the ceiling by my neck, so I didn’t do that again.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he heard Peter continue to talk. He slid down to the floor and clutched his head in his hands. He wanted to listen, to hear Peter so he could  _ help  _ him, but this… he couldn’t listen to this.

“Obey all commands and orders. For that one, they used a tazor, turned up the levels until I was paralized. That got me compliant pretty fast.” He chuckled again, and Tony sobbed.

“Receive all punishment without complaint. This one was different. They didn’t hurt me  _ physically  _ \- no, they treated me like an animal. They knocked me down, and one day, I just stopped trying. Didn’t get back up.” Peter shrugged, like this didn’t matter, like it wasn’t of importance. His expression was stony, and he didn’t move his gaze from Steve.

“Rule Ten,” he announced with sarcastic bravado. “Punish yourself if we are not around to. Do you know how much they beat me down, Steve?” The sounds of his first name in the mouth of his son had Steve flinching. “Do you know how compliant I was? At night, when I was so exhausted from the constant pain that I fell asleep and they didn’t tell me to, you know what I would do when I woke up? I would ram my head into the wall, and sometimes I wouldn’t be able to see straight. Other times, I would pass out.”

Tony’s hands were clenched around his mouth, and he couldn’t see through his tears. Everyone in the room looked broken down, defeated - except for Peter. He was unwavering, in his stance, in his gaze. He was telling Steve like it was. Part of Tony wanted to be proud. The other, more dominant part was horrified.

“Are you happy with your results?” Peter whispered harshly. Then, without another word, Peter turned and marched up the stairs, shoulders held back. Not long after he left their sights, Tony heard Peter’s bedroom door slam.

The group watched him go with wide eyes. No one said a word.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Bruce have conversations with Peter. The rest of the Avengers react to the news.

Steve stayed on the floor long after Peter was gone, kneeling, staring into his hands which were lying upright on his lap.

Of course, he always regretted letting Sitwell get his hands on Peter. He regretted it the second he saw the man in the park that one day - but now, he regretted it a whole lot more. Steve had never known the true extent of what  _ they  _ had done to Peter; he figured the “bad guys” had just roughed him up a bit, punched him a few times.

Steve didn’t know the true weight the word “torture” actually held.

Bucky, on the other hand, was all too familiar.

With every new word that came out of Peter’s mouth, Bucky just grew sadder, because he  _ understood _ . He knew how it felt to be poked and prodded and beaten down until you were compliant, with no choices about any any aspect of your life. No control.

Bucky wasn’t surprised, because he knew all too well what Peter was describing. He was just commiserating.

Wanda was horrified.

When she got her powers, she had volunteered. She volunteered, knowing the pain she was going to endure, and even then, it wasn’t that awful - the scientists had her knocked out and on anesthesia for the worst of it. Peter had been kidnapped, taken by someone he had trusted, and had been forced to endure horrors Wanda had never even  _ dreamed  _ of.

Wanda had to leave half way through Peter’s rant. She couldn’t stand to listen anymore.

Natasha was forced to listen.

Natasha heard every word that came out of her nephew’s mouth. Every word that should’ve been broken with a tearful sob, every time Peter should’ve had to stop to collect himself, he continued speaking as if there was nothing to what he was saying, as if his words held no weight.

Natasha wished Peter had shown more emotion.

Sam understood why Peter hadn’t shown more emotion.

He was familiar with the way trauma victims hid away their pasts in order to focus solely on the  _ here  _ and  _ now _ , how they unhealthily buried their old lives in order to try to move on with their new ones.

Sam had heard that emotionless tone before in his therapy sessions.

Bruce had never heard that tone before.

Bruce was used to his lively nephew, the little Peter Parker bouncing around that was terrible at lying and could never hide his emotions. He was used to the Peter that was always smiling, and if he wasn’t, worked hard to smile again. He was used to the Peter that looked for positivity and encouraged it everywhere he went.

Bruce was shocked by Peter’s new tone.

Rhodes was surprisingly unsurprised by the tone Peter’s voice took.

Rhodes was used to that voice. He had heard it many times before coming from his best friend’s mouth, when Tony was angry. It was a defense mechanism, used when Tony didn’t want people inside his head. It meant there were walls up, hundreds of them, that couldn’t be knocked down until Tony let them be.

Rhodes was prepared to wait.

Tony couldn’t wait any longer.

He had done his waiting, two whole months of it. Now, Peter was back, and Tony couldn’t  _ wait  _ for things to return to normal. He couldn’t wait to have his son back, and he couldn’t  _ wait  _ to be a happy family again - but that might never occur. One member of the family was broken, another had caused it, and a third… well, the third didn’t know  _ what  _ to do.  _ Tony  _ didn’t know what to do.

Tony was lost.

Peter felt like he had been found.

Steve had been the one to hand him over. That made  _ so much sense _ . Sure, it felt like a  _ huge  _ act of betrayal, but right now, Peter didn’t register that. All that mattered to him was that he felt back to normal now. He wasn’t scared of Tony, he was away from his kidnappers ( _ both  _ of them), and it finally felt like things were over. He knew his extended family enough to know they would take care of Steve, and Peter would never have to see him again (and at the moment, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care. Good riddance).

Peter felt like it was finally over.

◊ ◊ ◊

As soon as Bucky saw Peter run past him up the stairs, he knew what he had to do. Bucky understood what had happened to Peter. He could fix this.

Bucky turned to follow Peter when a broken but strong voice called him back.

“Barnes,” Tony growled, and Bucky turned back around to make eye contact with a livid - there was no other word to describe him - Tony Stark. His eyes were ride and red-rimmed, his jaw clenched so tightly Bucky feared it might shatter.

“I know what he’s going through,” Bucky defended quietly. “Please, let me help him.”

“Shouldn’t I be the first one to reassure my kid?”

“You should be the first to avenge him.” Bucky nodded to where Steve was still kneeling on the floor, and Tony let his gaze drop, his face instantly gaining an expression that could only be described as hunger - hunger for revenge.

Bucky nodded, content, before he turned and headed back up the stairs, ignoring the gazes of those he passed to find Peter’s room.

The first thing he noticed when Bucky stepped inside was the layer of dust covering everything - the blue wallpaper, the dresser beneath the old(ish) movie posters, the LEGO replicas that lay displayed around the room. Then, his eyes landed on the bed, and the boy that was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Bucky took a slow step into the room and closed the door behind him. Peter didn’t even react, even when Bucky moved closer to sit on the edge of the bed. Peter remained still, his eyes fixed, unblinking, on the ceiling. Bucky watched him for a moment, knowing exactly how Peter was feeling, and gave the boy a minute to settle.

“Hey, Pete,” he said softly, and Peter blinked in greeting. “Look, I know you’re not okay, so I’m not even going to bother asking-”

“I’m great,” Peter answered quietly, peacefully, without taking his eyes off the ceiling. Bucky nodded and moved his gaze to the side of the room. He wasn’t looking at Peter, nor Peter at him - they were both sitting comfortably in each other’s company, both comfortably aware that they were going through the same thing.

“Do you have anything you want to talk about?” Bucky asked gently, still staring off ahead. He saw Peter shrug from his peripherals. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, and you answer?”

“Sure.”

Bucky nodded, preparing his questions. He remembered when he had been like this, after Steve had rescued him all those years ago, or after his missions but before his memory was wiped. It was a state of shock, but more… peaceful. You weren’t angry, or happy, or surprised, or sad. You just…  _ were _ . There was no telling what was going on in your mind, because not even  _ you  _ knew.

It was the calm before the storm.

“Do you feel… safe?”

Peter rolled his head on his pillow so he was making eye contact with Bucky, and the older man shifted his gaze to meet the younger one’s.

“With you, or in general?”

Bucky shrugged. “Whatever you want to answer.”

Peter sighed - but if wasn’t of  _ frustration _ , or because he was upset; it looked like he was simply contemplating.

“I do. Feel safe, I mean. With both - uh, everyone, except….” He trailed off, and his eyes drifted back toward the ceiling. Bucky nodded solemnly, keeping his eyes on Peter.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” he whispered, and a small, almost sympathetic smile graced Peter’s lips.

“S’not your fault,” he answered, equally quiet. “I mean, you didn’t know.”

Bucky nodded and looked away, back to the corner of the room. “And how do you feel about him? About Steve?”

“I feel like I should’ve seen it coming,” Peter answered, his tone one of contained frustration, as if he was too tired to fully express it. “I mean, they called me s-” He swallowed thickly. “Sweetie. Sweetheart. Only Steve has ever called me that.”

“There was no way you could’ve known.”

“I know,” Peter sighed, frustration becoming more evident as he talked through it, and the shock wore off. “I just felt like… I  _ should’ve _ known, you know?”

“Probably more than most,” Bucky supplied, then turned so he was fully staring at Peter. “I’ve been where you are, so trust me when I tell you it was  _ not  _ your fault. You’re going to think it was for a while, and nothing I tell you will change that… but it’s not. I promise you, Peter, it  _ was not your fault _ .”

Peter waited quietly for a moment. He didn’t say anything, and Bucky thought he was thinking over his words, until he said quietly, “No, you haven’t.”

Bucky looked over at him in surprise. “What?”

“You’ve  _ never  _ been where I was. No one has.” Bucky waited a moment, and then nodded, just to give Peter peace of mind - but Peter wasn’t done. “No one has ever been betrayed by their  _ parent _ . No one has ever been kidnapped so their  _ powers  _ could be tested, because no one  _ has  _ powers. You have  _ never  _ been where I was… and no one else has, either. I’m alone.”

His voice was quiet, but his words were vicious, and Bucky was taken aback before he remembered - this was  _ exactly  _ how he felt, too, when he was first rescued. Angry. Bucky had desperately wanted someone like Peter to talk to when he himself was going through it, so Bucky figured that his presence would be comforting for Peter - but it was actually the opposite. With dread, Bucky thought he knew why.

Until that point, Bucky had been the Avengers’ poster child for torture. The worst had happened to  _ him _ . Whatever other injuries, whatever other things went wrong, they could never be as worse than what Bucky had endured.

Now, though, what happened to Peter had finally matched what had happened to Bucky, and maybe even surpassed it.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said, remembering that he should  _ never  _ compare traumas. Everyone had their own thresholds, their own limits to what they could handle. You should never put two struggles in the same boat, no matter what. “That wasn’t my place. But, Peter, you’re never alone-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bucky nodded sadly, giving in. They had made good progress, with their limited interaction; but now, Bucky had pushed Peter too far, and he needed some time to just… cool down. Be on his own.

Recovery wasn’t a straight line. It was a mix of group work and individual processing, long conversations and short spurts of questioning. This was the end of the first session of many.

“Okay,” Bucky conceded, standing from the bed. “I’ll leave you alone. But, you know, if you ever need to talk….”

Peter only blinked in response.

Bucky sighed and nodded once, before turning and stepping back out of the room, pulling the door half-way shut behind him. He almost ran into Bruce on the way out.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Bucky excused himself, trying to step around the man, but Bruce held out a hand and grabbed his arm.

“Is he okay?” Bruce asked, and Bucky looked wistfully at Peter’s closed door in response.

“He’s a champ,” Bucky finally answered with a sigh. “He’ll make it through.” Bruce nodded, but kept his grip on Bucky’s arm. “Are  _ you  _ okay?”

“Yeah,” Bruce answered, still not making eye contact. Bucky leaned down so he could better meet the man’s eyes, just in time for him to say, “... No.”

“What’s bothering you?” Bucky wanted to lead Bruce away, into a different room where they could talk, but neither of them wanted to leave Peter alone. Bucky had never really spoken much with Bruce, but already, with their limited conversations, Bucky sensed a connection to him, even if it was simply that they were both overlooked.

Bruce looked down, face growing red. “That was awful, you know, what they did to him.” Bucky just nodded. He didn’t have the strength to answer. “Please tell me you got  _ something _ done, that he’s healing, just a little bit. I can’t stand-” Bruce cut himself off and looked down, finally releasing Bucky’s arm. “This isn’t Peter.”

“We did… get  _ something  _ done,” Bucky sighed, not knowing how to explain the healing process of trauma to a man who’s never experienced any. “It’ll take a while, but-”

“Did you get him to talk about it? Acknowledge it, at least?”

Bucky looked up at Bruce in surprise. He had expected Bruce to ask if Peter was fully healed yet. After all, they’d had a conversation about it. It had been days since Peter was rescued - but Bruce knew more than what Bucky had originally suspected. Why hadn’t the other Avengers been paying more attention to him?

“Yeah,” Bucky answered slowly, nodding. “He feels safe, so that’s good.” Bruce nodded along, impressed. “He feels guilty about Steve, like maybe he should’ve known, and he also thinks he’s alone in this. I don’t know how to tell him he’s wrong without comparing traumas.”

“You know, I endured… trauma?” Bruce said softly, avoiding eye contact. Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “The Hulk. The transitions weren’t always easy, and afterwards, seeing the results of the destruction I caused without any knowledge of doing it….” Bruce trailed off, hands fiddling in his lap. Bucky couldn’t speak for a minute.

“Bruce, I had no idea.”

Bruce just shrugged, looking sheepish. “No one really does. I’m not really…  _ open  _ about it, but maybe we can use that to our advantage. Peter doesn’t think I endured any, uh,  _ trauma _ , so if I try to sympathize with him, he won’t think I’m comparing us.”

Bucky nodded, feeling the carpet being ripped from underneath him. This was one of the first times he was  _ really  _ getting to know Bruce, and Bruce suddenly opened up about something he told no one else?

“Get on in there.” Bucky gave a small smile, and nodded his head toward Peter’s doorway. Bruce nodded and took a deep breath, before opening the door and stepping inside.

◊ ◊ ◊

Bruce stepped past Bucky and closed the door behind him with a heavy heart. When a member of the team was hurt, everyone else was affected. The fact that it was  _ Peter  _ who was injured, along with the person who injured him being one of their own, had the team feeling… lost. Hopeless. In despair.

The whole world felt like it was tilting off its axis, and the Avengers with it. They could only hope there would be no villains attacking anytime soon, because the group of once-was heroes were in no state to defend themselves, and especially not civilians.

Bruce noticed Peter lying flat on his back in the direct centre of his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes looked… vacant. Lost. Like hollow shells. He was in shock. Bruce knew; he recognized that look whenever he looked in the mirror. It meant that Peter wasn’t really  _ there _ , but it was impossible to tell where he was. Was he reflecting on past events, thinking about the future, or was he just…  _ gone?  _ Nonexistant? Somewhere that no one, not even himself, could see?

“Hello, Peter,” Bruce called quietly, and Peter hummed in greeting. Responsive. That was good. Bruce inched closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Peter shrugged, a miniscule movement. “Fine.”

Bruce nodded as he took a seat by the edge of Peter’s bed. “That’s good.” He waited for a minute before continuing. He wanted to make everything sound as natural and unpressuring as possible. “I was wondering if you would allow me to check you over for your physical health.”

Bruce lifted the bag he brought with him, a small duffel bag, until it rested on the bed. Peter snapped to attention when he saw it and he sat up straighter, wide eyes focused solely on the bag. Bruce pulled it back a tad and waited, listening to Peter’s heavy breathing, that bordered on hyperventilating.

“Can you tell me what happened, Peter?” Bruce fought to keep his voice calm, but he was having trouble. Peter was freaking out at the sight of a  _ duffel bag _ , and Bruce couldn’t figure out what that meant.

Bruce didn’t want to move the bag off the bed. Peter had to recover, and if they sheltered him, he would never be able to. Bruce would be gentle… but to the point.

Slowly, Bruce moved a hand toward the bag, and Peter flinched. Bruce hesitated, but didn’t move away - he kept his hand positioned over the bag, but not touching it.

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

Peter took a deep breath, preparing to speak (without removing his eyes from the bag). Bruce waited carefully.

“What’s in it?” Peter whispered quietly, voice sounding strangled.

“Just some medical tools,” Bruce answered gently, trying to make eye contact with Peter, but the boy was frozen. “Stethoscope, thermometer, some gauze and tape, and that’s it.” Bruce didn’t mention the needles and surgical scissors for obvious reasons.

Peter took a steadying breath, and his eyes flickered to Bruce’s - though, it looked like he was having trouble making eye contact. “C-Can I open it?”

Bruce nodded and smiled; small, sympathetic. It made sense for Peter to be wary of new things, but duffel bags were definitely going on the no-no list from now on. Bruce didn’t even want to think about how they used duffel bags where Peter was, or what they carried in there.

Peter slowly reached a hand towards the bag and pulled it toward him, opening it carefully. He began to look inside without touching anything, and Bruce was glad he had packed all the sharp materials in side pockets, and hidden them away.

After a moment, Peter leaned back, satisfied, and smiled gently up at Bruce.  The man returned it as he took back the bag and pulled out the stethoscope, placing it over his ears and leaning over to press the other end against Peter’s chest. Peter flinched back at first but Bruce didn’t retract his hands, letting Peter adjust himself to the contact, before he continued.

If Peter seemed frightened or on the breaking point, then of course Bruce would pull away. However, if Peter simply  _ flinched _ , it meant he just… wasn’t used to it, and Bruce couldn’t baby him.

When Bruce was going through his own recoveries, he didn’t have anyone to pull him out of the pit of despair he had buried himself in, and sat in a pool of self-pity. It took him  _ years  _ to fully recover from his first…  _ outburst _ . He wasn’t going to let Peter wait that long.

When Bruce finished his assessment, he pulled away and smiled at Peter. The boy just blinked back at him.

“I’m going to take a look at your arms now, if that’s alright. I just want to check your cuts, and see how they’re healing-”

“Steve did it.”

Bruce stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry?”

“Steve did this to me. He put these cuts on my arms.”

Bruce moved the duffel bag to the floor so he could sit closer to Peter, although the boy hadn’t moved - he was still lying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Peter, can you please sit up for me?” It took him a second to comply, but Peter didn’t oppose the request. He pushed himself to his elbows and Bruce put a bracing arm on his back as Peter sat up against the headboard. “Thank you. Now, what do you mean by that?”

Peter’s gaze was still vacant, but this time he was staring straight ahead rather than up. It seemed as though his gaze was always focused on where his head was, as if he couldn’t move it, or focus his attention elsewhere. Maybe he didn’t have the energy to.

“Steve put these cuts on my arms,” Peter repeated quietly, as if it was simple, and the meaning was clear. His eyes were still unfocused, his back still stiff. He was clearly somewhere else, and Bruce needed to get him back, or he’d bury himself too deep in his memories.

“No. Peter.  _ Hey _ . Look at me.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he hurried to comply - but in this case, Bruce felt the word  _ comply  _ held more weight than at other times. Peter looked like he was following  _ orders _ .

“I need you to explain to me what you mean. How did Steve put these cuts on your arms?” Peter’s eyes met Bruce’s, and they looked… lost, as if Peter himself didn’t know. “Did Steve cut you?” Peter nodded. “No, Peter, did Steve himself put a blade to your arm and cut you?”

Peter looked confused for a minute as he deflated like a balloon, and shrunk back into the mattress. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“Then what do you mean by  _ Steve cut you? _ ”

Peter looked down at his hands, like he was embarrassed to admit it. “He gave  me over to - to the bad guys.”

“And they cut you.”

Peter nodded slowly, looking dejected - but Bruce took this as a win. Peter was coming to terms with what had happened, which meant he was being broken down. As much as it hurt Bruce to do, he had to break Peter down in order for him to properly recover. Otherwise, the lines would get blurred, and Peter would live as a shell of himself forever.

“Can I look at your arms now, Peter?”

Peter nodded shakily, and held his arm out for Bruce to take. Gently, Bruce rolled up Peter’s sleeve, and began the examination.

◊ ◊ ◊

Not even fifteen minutes later, Bruce bid Peter goodnight, and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. The examination had gone well. There were no major injuries to tend to, so Bruce just gave Peter some cream to help his cuts heal. (Although there were many, they were healing well. Peter knew enough first aid to tend to them while they were fresh, so now they were just a group of scars.)

The first thing Bruce heard when he stepped out of Peter’s room was silence - which was odd. It seemed as though there was always yelling these days for some reason or another, whether it was Steve defending himself or everyone else attacking him.

Now, there was nothing. Silence. Bruce wondered if the rest of the group was even  _ inside _ , or if they had left.

Bruce crept down the stairway where the group used to be, but everyone was gone, nowhere to be seen. He was about to check outside when he heard a sniffle from the next room over, the t.v. room.

He stepped toward the doorway and peeked into the room, and saw Tony and Steve sitting on the couch,  _ together _ , the latter’s arm wrapped around the former. Tony was curled against Steve’s side and they were holding each other, both looking straight ahead at a blank wall. Neither was speaking.

Bruce had no idea what to make of it. He held his breath as he stepped out of the room, not wanting to make a sound.

As he stepped closer to the front entrance to check outside for the rest of the group, Bruce thought about recent events. He didn’t know whose side he stood on in this whole thing. Peter’s, maybe? Sure, it wasn’t right for Steve to hand Peter over - but he  _ didn’t  _ hand Peter over, did he? Rhodes had filled Bruce in on what Wanda had found in Steve’s mind, and by the sound of it, it seemed as though Steve did the right thing - or, had the right end result in mind, anyway.

Steve just wanted to help his kid, and that was natural. He didn’t go about it in the right way, of course, but he was a desperate father. That’s what desperate fathers  _ do _ . Then, Sitwell  _ took  _ Peter. Kidnapped him, essentially. Steve had nothing to do with it.

Then again, Bruce could also see  _ Tony’s  _ side. Never trust a criminal, especially one from an honest-to-goodness terrorist organization, and  _ never  _ let them anywhere near your kid. Steve’s a hero. He’s been dealing with villains this whole time. He should know that.

By the time Bruce reached the front door, he was thoroughly conflicted. He didn’t know who to trust, who to protect, who to defend - so he was relieved when he opened the door and saw the rest of the group on the other side, standing beneath the stars, hovering like bees.

Wanda was closest to him, followed by Bucky, Sam, and Rhodes, and Natasha was standing perfectly still at the end of the driveway, hands clenched together behind her back as she stood still as a statue.

The group looked up when Bruce stepped out (all except for Natasha, who remained frozen) and Wanda stepped forward to greet him. Bruce thought he saw traces of tears in her eyes.

“Is he okay?” she asked shakily, and everyone stepped closer to hear Bruce’s analysis.

“He’s fine,” Bruce answered, and he could see relief ripple through the group. “His cuts are healing fine. The, um, electrocution might have effects on his brain, but we’d… we’d have to wait to see it. The…  _ other stuff _ should have no long term effects on him, just the mental trauma.”

Bucky cleared his throat, and the wide-eyed group turned their attention to him. “I’m helping him with that. I mean, I understand, so I know how to best speak to him.”

The group nodded their support, and Sam stepped forward. “Hey, you ever need any help with that….” Bucky nodded, and smiled his thanks. 

After a while of standing quietly, Bruce spoke up again. “So, um, why are we all out here?”

Rhodes looked sheepish as he spoke up. “Tony looked… pissed.” He said the word with a quiet chuckle, and Bruce tried to imagine what the man’s face was like after he had left. He had seen Tony mad before, but never  _ pissed _ . “He said he wanted to speak with Steve - who was still crying on the floor, by the way - and we’ve been out here since.”

Bruce cocked his head in confusion. “When I saw them, Tony didn’t look pissed. He… he was  _ crying _ . Or, Steve was. I don’t know, I just saw them from behind as they sat on the couch.”

“Are you sure?” Sam spoke up from beside Bucky. “Tony was  _ mad _ . Like, red-in-the-face, fists-clenched mad. I was scared he was going to…  _ kill  _ Steve.” His expression was humorous, but his words were serious. Bruce shrugged with a sigh.

“I don’t know what to tell you. They were sitting silently on the couch. Steve had his arm wrapped around Tony, and that was it. I wonder what they talked about.” Everyone was quiet, letting that sink in. Bruce quieted his voice. “What’s going on with Nat?”

“She’s… really upset,” Wanda volunteered, sending a worried glance toward her friend’s back. “All that stuff about Peter… it really affected her.”

“It affected us all,” Rhodes tried to say, but Wanda just shook her head.

“Her, more than most. She really cares about Peter, and when he… had finished speaking, I just heard her mumble something about her espionage past, and she stormed away.”

Bucky looked toward Natasha with worry. “Well, maybe if we go back into the compound, she’ll follow us in-”

“No.” Bruce shook his head. “Tony and Steve - I don’t want to disturb them. It looks like they’re finally fixing things between them.”

“Well, we can’t really walk past Natasha, especially not when she’s like this….” Bucky shuddered at his own words, and Bruce smiled, wondering about the memory he was currently stuck in.

“So… what do we do?” Sam asked, looking around the group for an answer - that Rhodes gave.

“We wait.” And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you guys had to wait so long for such a poorly-written chapter. I'll work harder to make the next ones better <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve confront their emotions. Natasha ruminates on her past. Peter shares his thoughts regarding Steve.

Tony stared at Steve long after the others had left. He didn’t -  _ couldn’t _ \- move. He was fixed in his position, held by anger and frustration and betrayal and regret, as he glared down at Steve. The other man was on his knees, also unmoving, looking up at Tony with pleading in his eyes. Pleading for forgiveness, that Tony wasn’t sure he could give - but he damn well wanted to.

He wanted to be able to forgive Steve. He wanted things to go back to  _ normal _ . He no longer wanted to be Iron Man and Captain America, the betrayed and the betrayer - he wanted to be Tony and Steve, lovers, fathers to Peter Parker. Was that too much to ask?

In their current situation, it just might’ve been.

Tony broke his statuesque stance to rub a hand over his eyes. “Stand up,” he demanded, and Steve followed orders immediately, pushing himself to his feet to meet Tony’s gaze. Tony didn’t say another word. Frankly, he didn’t know  _ what  _ to say, just that he already wanted it to be  _ said _ . He wanted to fast forward to the end, where everything was fixed and all was well - but first, he had to come up with the middle, and middles were the hardest part.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Steve,” Tony sighed, looking in the direction their friends had went to leave the compound. “This is… it’s horrifying. There’s no other way for me to put it.”

“I know,” Steve answered in a pleading voice. “I know, and I’m sorry, and I swear to never do anything  _ remotely  _ like it again-”

“Shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Tony cut him off in a contemplative voice, followed by  a humourless chuckle. “Shouldn’t have done it, Steve.”

“I know.” Steve reached for Tony’s hands, but the man pulled them away. Steve let his own fall dejectedly to his sides.

“No,” Tony whispered, shaking his head as he avoided eye contact. “You  _ don’t _ .” Tony sighed, hesitating for a minute before turning and walking into the living room, falling onto the couch. Steve followed him not long after, but kept his distance. Tony didn’t react - he just stared straight ahead, having no energy to do anything else.

“Steve, I want to forgive you, I really do - but then I think about all the reasons I  _ can’t _ . You didn’t just give Peter away, you  _ lied  _ to me, for  _ two months _ , and then for days after.”

“Tony-”

“Let me speak,” Tony pleaded, voice cracking as he stared straight ahead. Steve stared at him for a few more seconds, then followed suit, sinking against the back of the couch.

“If you had told me as soon as Sitwell screwed you over - heck, even when he just asked for the DNA sample - we could’ve dealt with it,  _ together _ . Maybe we could’ve gotten Peter back sooner, but you decided to keep it from me.” Tony turned to look at Steve, betrayal clear on his face, from the tears in his eyes to the way he was gnawing on his lip. “Did you  _ really  _ think I wouldn’t have figured it out?”

Steve looked back, beginning to cry, as well. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say and closed it again, trying to communicate just through his gaze - one of pain and pleading and desperation.

“And then,” Tony continued, sniffling and cocking his head as he continued to stare at Steve, “even after we got him back, you said  _ nothing _ . I had to sit beside you, the man who had gotten us  _ into  _ this predicament, and be  _ comforted  _ by you.” By the way Tony said  _ us _ , Steve knew he really meant him and Peter. Steve… Steve was no longer a part of the family.

The next words Tony said split Steve’s heart in two.

“I thought you loved me.”

Steve froze, words weighing heavy on his heart as he looked at the man across from him, the man who had once trusted him,  _ loved  _ him. Those emotions were still there, built up over years and years of happiness and good memories - but they were covered, obscured by newer, fresher, harsher emotions. And the bad always weighed heavier than the good.

“I do, Tony….” Steve reached for Tony, and this time the man didn’t pull away, tears beginning to pool in his eyes as he let Steve grab his hands. “I swear to you, I  _ do _ . And I’m sorry. It was a mistake. A stupid, idiotic mistake, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness-”

“I want to give it to you.” Steve froze, looking up at Tony. “I want to forgive you so, so terribly, because I love you. Maybe not at the moment, but I do, I know I do, and I really want to love you again.” Tony was letting his walls down, letting vulnerability overcome anger, forgiveness overcome betrayal. Steve could tell, because he was doing the same thing.

“I need you to work with me,” Tony whispered, eyes growing desperate. He needed one hundred percent agreement from Steve, right here, right now. He needed commitment, the assurance that nothing  _ near  _ this would happen ever,  _ ever  _ again. “You can’t lie to me anymore.” Steve nodded quickly, eager to agree and prove himself. “And I need to know you care for Peter.”

“Of course I do-”

“I mean, really,  _ really  _ care for him,” Tony continued sharply, a little tougher. “I need you to prove to me that you are capable of taking care of him, of raising him with me, because I can’t do it alone. But if you  _ can’t _ , if you have anything less than pure admiration and the desperate need to protect him from the world and anything that might harm him… I need you to tell me now, because in that case, raising him alone would be more preferable than doing it with you.”

Steve didn’t respond for a moment, giving Tony the impression that he was seriously thinking it over, even though he really didn’t need to. He knew the answer in a heartbeat. He knew he would protect Peter to the ends of the earth. He had made a mistake once; it wouldn’t happen again.

Steve gripped Tony’s hands tighter, barely blinking as he said the words - the words that wouldn’t fix everything, but those that would set the recovery in motion.

“I swear to you, I will protect our son. I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.”

Tony looked at Steve,  _ really  _ looked at him, eyes seeming to search deep into his soul to verify the words. Apparently, he found what he was looking for, because he nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks, and leaned forward. Steve caught him effortlessly, laying his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

There were two bodies on that couch, but one mind, one heart. One thought - family. Love. One feeling - the one that comes from feeling broken your whole life, then finally finding your other half, the corresponding puzzle piece, the glue that holds you together.

Two bodies.

One soul.

Steve thought he heard someone behind him - probably one of the Avengers - but he didn’t care. As long as it wasn’t Peter (and he was positive it wasn’t - he knew what his son’s presence felt like), everyone, every _ thing _ , else could wait. He had all he needed - his love in his arms, his son safely resting upstairs - and for the first time in months, everything felt  _ right _ .

◊ ◊ ◊

Natasha stood at the end of the long driveway, staring into the abyss the road led into. Peter’s words were playing on repeat in her mind, along with his worryingly calm voice and emotionless expression that sent shivers down her spine, no matter how many times the horrid scene was repeated. She was forced to endure it, over and over, her spy training not allowing her to forget a single detail, a single word.

Soon, Peter’s face in her memories was no longer his own; it was every single child Natasha had been trained,  _ forced _ , to kill. Every child that had just been a training exercise, nothing more than a mission. Pleading eyes against her own hardened ones, their trembling fingers desperate to reach out, but having no effect on her still ones as they reached for a trigger.

Natasha rubbed her hands along her face, trying to remove the images, the  _ memories _ ; but they wouldn’t go away. They were her curse, her  _ burden _ , and she was stuck in her nightmares, the ones that she herself had created.

The sound of approaching footsteps had Natasha dropping her hands from her face and wiping away her tears, stiffening her back. No signs of weakness, nothing to indicate that she was anything less than perfect.

She fixed her posture to one of indifference just in time for Wanda to step into her peripherals, looking straight ahead as she moved to stand in line with Natasha.

“Are you alright?” she asked, keeping her attention focused forward - which Natasha appreciated.

“Fine.” Natasha’s voice was calm, with undertones of anger that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried.

Wanda chuckled, but it was more like a quick exhale of breath. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Wanda asked carefully, turning her eyes to Natasha, who kept her gaze focused forward. Natasha opened her mouth, but Wanda continued to speak before she could say anything. “I know you’re keeping it in, bottling it up. You want to be strong for us, but if you’re our pillar of strength, who’s yours?”

Wanda stepped in front of Natasha, forcing her to make eye contact. “Let me be yours,” she finished with a smile.

Wanda didn’t move her eyes from Natasha’s face until she gained the courage to speak.

“What do you know about… my past?” she asked quietly, refusing to meet Wanda’s eyes.

“Barely anything,” Wanda whispered, and Natasha shuddered a breath.

“When I was younger,” she began, standing frozen, “I was trained in a facility called the Red Room. They gave me the skills I have now. They trained me to be an assassin.” Wanda listened attentively, keeping her expression passive in case Natasha decided to make eye contact. She didn’t.

“We did these… exercises. We had to compete with each other, fight each other, and it wouldn’t end until one of us…  _ killed  _ the other.” Natasha took a shuddering breath. “I was seven when I made my first kill.”

Natasha lifted her head up then, but she wasn’t looking  _ at  _ Wanda - she was looking  _ through _ her. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at nightmares she was conjuring up herself.

“Hey.” Wanda reached a hand out and gently brushed it against Natasha’s fingers. “Come back to me,” she whispered, and Natasha jolted back to reality, her eyes refocusing on Wanda all at once. Her eyes trailed to the side, where Wanda had her fingers intertwined with her own, and Wanda pulled her hand away slowly.

“Sorry,” she said softly as she dropped her gaze, but Natasha just shook her head.

“No. No, that’s okay. Thanks for bringing me back.”

Wanda smiled and let go of Natasha’s hand, taking a step back. She figured Natasha might need some room to breathe.

“I had to kill,” Natasha continued, this time making eye contact with Wanda. Natasha looked upset, distraught, but she wasn’t crying. No, this was something she had come to terms with over years and years of ruminations. “I had to kill children to make it to the top, and when I got there, they sent me out on missions.” Her voice never rose an octave, but she was clearly becoming more agitated as she went on.

“I had to track, and hunt, and kill. I never fought against their oppression. They gave me a mission, and I completed it. Sometimes… sometimes they were against children, and I can’t help but think….” Natasha trailed off, looked down at her feet. She quieted her voice until it was barely above a whisper. “If SHIELD hadn’t rescued me when they did, would I be one of the people...  _ working _ on Peter?”

Wanda shook her head almost instantly. “You can’t think about that. SHIELD rescued you, and you’re fine now. You’re  _ good _ .”

“But if they hadn’t-”

“Hey,” Wanda interrupted as she took a step closer to Natasha. “You’re here now, you’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”

Natasha smiled, blinked a few times. “Thank you,” she whispered, and Wanda nodded in response. “So what- what’s everyone else doing right now?”

Wanda peeked around Natasha’s shoulder, and saw everyone, every single person’s eyes, on the two of them. “Looking at us.”

“ _ All  _ of them?”

“Well, I’m sure my touching your hand didn’t really help.” Natasha groaned, and Wanda smiled apologetically. “Hey, they’re just worried about you.”

Natasha sighed, and Wanda could see her defense going up as she turned back toward the group, giving Wanda a close-lipped smile as she did so.

“Well then, let’s go put their minds at ease.”

The two walked back to the group, who turned their eyes to the ground when they saw the women returning, ashamed to admit that they had been staring since Wanda left their group. Natasha decided not to call them out on it.

“Any developments?” she asked as soon as she reached them, and Bruce stepped forward.

“They’re still inside,” he answered. Then, he quieted his voice; although, it was just for show, under the pretense of sympathy. His words was still audible to the rest of the group. “Are you okay?”

Natasha waved him off with a shrug, avoiding eye contact. “Fine.”

Bruce nodded, looking skeptical, but stepped back anyway. Natasha moved forward before anyone else could. She met the eyes of everyone in the group before speaking.

“We should discuss what’s been happening. We should establish, now, how we feel about Steve, the actions - and precautions - we’ll have to take, and what will happen depending on whether or not Tony trusts him.”

Bucky cleared his throat, expression tough and unreadable. “Steve worked with HYDRA. Whatever the reasoning behind it, that’s almost unforgivable.”

“With all do respect,” Rhodes spoke up, “I disagree. He did it to  _ help  _ Peter. Sure, it was a shit decision on his part, but it wasn’t like he just  _ handed  _ Peter over. Sitwell took him. Steve didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, we need to find a middle ground,” Sam contributed, earning him a grateful smile from Natasha. “We can’t just split up pro-Steve and anti-Steve. We have to work together.”

“Agreed.” Wanda stepped forward so she was better engrossed in the group. “This is chaotic enough. We need a united front or this issue might never get resolved.”

“We need a neutral stance,” Natasha announced, taking control of the group once more. “Something we all agree on. We should find some middle ground.”

Bruce, who had previously been silent, cleared his throat and stepped forward, looking awkward the entire time. “What Steve did was bad, but for a good reason. I know the ends don’t always justify the means, but maybe….” He shrugged, making eye contact with Bucky, and then Rhodes, the ones leading the opposing sides of the argument.

“We should be wary around him, sure. But, he’s still Captain America. He’s still our friend… and Peter’s father, so he at least deserves a chance.”

The group fell silent, letting the doctor’s words sink in, until Natasha smiled at him.

“All in favour?” she called with a hint of humour, but when she was met with five nodding heads, she smiled and took a small step back, abolishing her position as head of the conversation.

“Look, it still makes me uncomfortable,” Bucky said after a minute, “so if Tony deems Steve unworthy, if he kicks him out….”

“By all means, join him,” Rhodes answered. “It’s ultimately Tony’s choice on how to act. But if Tony wants to give him a shot….”

“We should all be ready to do the same,” Bruce concluded, looking seriously around the group and being met with five determined faces.

As if on cue, the door to the compound opened, and Tony poked his head out, looking a tad crazed, but with a small smile.

“Sorry for making you guys wait so long,” he addressed the group as he pulled the door open wider. “Well, I mean, it  _ is  _ technically my home, built on my dollar….”

On any other day, any member of the group would be eager to rebuttal that, but today, everyone realized it was just a defense mechanism, something to help him cope. The group filed passed Tony into the compound, Natasha last. She stopped beside him and gave him a nod, which he returned with a relieved smile that had the weight of one that was held back for far too long. 

Natasha followed the group to where they were standing in the living room, forming a semi-circle around the couch and looking with hostility at something on it. Natasha only noticed what when she rounded the couch, and was met with the begging eyes of Steve Rogers.

Tony was last to enter the room, and he stepped partly in front of Steve’s sitting form almost protectively, letting one of his hands reach behind him to touch Steve’s shoulder. Steve gripped it gratefully with his own hand.

“I bet you all are waiting on a verdict,” Tony teased, but the smile fell from his lips when he realized the entirety of the group had their eyes trained on Steve, and no one was planning on letting up. Tony sighed and looked down to Steve behind him, who smiled up at Tony reassuringly. Tony took a deep breath and lifted his eyes back up to the rest of the group.

“Look, Steve made a horrible decision. I realize that, and it may be difficult to forgive by  _ all  _ of you… for your own reasons.” His eyes settled on Bucky’s, but he noticed Bucky wasn’t listening. He was too busy glaring at Steve, and by the tensing of Steve’s muscles under Tony’s fingertips, Steve had noticed. Tony decided to shrug it off and continue.

He forced his voice to be stronger, no-nonsense. “But I’ve decided to forgive him - or, work towards forgiveness. I know it’ll take a while, but….” Tony looked down to Steve and smiled sweetly. “He’s the love of my life, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to rekindle that love.”

The room was quiet, the atmosphere tense, as Tony and Steve awaited the group’s decision. Tony tightened his grip on Steve’s shoulder as the two of them looked around the room, two against six.

Rhodes was the first to step forward, and everyone seemed to hold their breath as he stepped past Tony to move closer to Steve. Steve stood from the couch to meet his gaze, and Tony stepped back, fiddling with his fingers behind his back.

Rhodes reached a hand up, and Steve watched it warily, Tony ready to jump in at any moment, until Rhodes gently placed it on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Welcome back,” he said simply, and stepped back into the line. Steve watched him go with a small, grateful smile.

Bucky watched as, one after the other, the five of them (six, if you count Tony) approached and forgave Steve. Sam shook his hand. Wanda gave him a nod. Bruce smiled and nodded approvingly, and Natasha even gave him a hug. Then, it was his turn.

All heads in the room swivelled to face him, waiting on what he would do. He  _ had  _ to give Steve his forgiveness, or at least a sign that it was coming, because that’s what the group had collectively decided upon - but he couldn’t. He  _ couldn’t  _ bring himself to forgive this man who had  _ claimed  _ to be his best friend, then had gone on to be the very epitome of everything Bucky hated.

Bucky stepped forward, expression set. Everyone held their breath, and Steve gave him a small smile, one that said,  _ welcome back, best friend _ . Oh, this son of a bitch was expecting Bucky to  _ forgive  _ him, just like that. Well, Bucky wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Bucky looked at Steve,  _ really  _ looked at him. Last chance. Last chance to change his mind, to  _ forgive _ .

Bucky just couldn’t bring himself to do that.

He turned at the last minute and stormed out of the room, away from Steve, leaving the rest of the group, mouths gaping, behind him.

Bucky couldn’t think. The only words running through his mind were,  _ can’t believe… betrayal… can’t forgive _ , on repeat, like a broken record. He shook his head angrily as he stormed through the hallway, barely stopping himself in time from running into one Peter Parker.

Bucky stopped suddenly and looked down with wide eyes at Peter, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked quietly. “I heard voices.”

Bucky’s world spun.  _ Peter _ . How could they forget about Peter? The choice for forgiveness wasn’t any of theirs to make. It was partly Tony’s, but not all of it - it was mainly  _ Peter’s  _ choice, and they had forgotten that.

It hadn’t even been 24 hours since Peter’s outburst, and now - shit, now he was walking towards the living room where Steve was, and Bucky had to stop him before he got there and saw Steve and-

But it was too late, because Peter was already walking into the room, and everyone had already seen him. He stepped forward until he was standing beside Tony, looking skeptically up at Steve and nervously eyeing everyone else in the room. His hand was subconsciously reaching for Tony’s back, trying to put the man in front of him to defend him… from  _ Steve _ . From the man who he thought had been his captor, because he technically was.

All these things Bucky noticed, Tony  _ didn’t _ . His mind was still stuck on,  _ forgive Steve. Forgive Steve. _ Tony bent down to smile at Peter, and the boy gave a small whine. Bucky realized why. When Tony was standing upright, he was taller than Peter, could provide protection. Now that Tony was his height, or even shorter, Peter felt  _ exposed _ .

“Peter!” Tony greeted in a voice that was far too loud. Bucky flinched in sympathy for Peter, the boy whose wide eyes wouldn’t leave Tony’s optimistic expression. Tony put a hand on Peter’s back and moved him slightly toward Steve, and Bucky wanted to yell.  _ Can’t you see him trembling?  _ he wanted to say, but Tony was so engrossed in his own problems, his own forgiveness, he didn’t even notice.

“Petey-Pie, I’ve decided to forgive your Pops. He made a mistake, but he  _ fixed  _ it, and-”

“I don’t forgive you,” Peter interrupted in a whisper, voice trembling, as he glared up at Steve, who looked like he had just gotten shot through the heart. “I,  _ don’t _ , forgive you,” he repeated louder, and the rest of the group shared worried glances, which Bucky could easily read. It seemed  _ everyone  _ had forgotten that this was really  _ Peter’s  _ choice, and they had little to no opinion in the matter.

“You’re  _ not  _ my Pops,” he shouted, staring up at Steve with his hands clenched into fists at his side. “You’re not my Pops, and I don’t forgive you, and I want you to  _ stay away  _ from me.” His voice broke on the words, and Bucky noticed tears began to drip down the boy’s face as he turned and stormed away from the group - but this time, he didn’t stop at the stairs. He walked right out the door and into the darkness of the abyss outside.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Bucky help each other heal. The rest of the Avengers discuss Steve's predicament.

Bucky turned and followed Peter without hesitation. For one, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Steve for a second longer - though, more importantly, it was eleven o’clock, and an upset, fifteen-year-old boy had just stormed outside. The last time this happened hadn’t wielded good results, so Bucky followed.

Bucky trailed Peter, giving him room to breathe, but also letting him know Bucky was there. He bypassed his assassin training and stepped on sticks so they would snap, occasionally let out a loud puff of breath under the pretense of being cold. Peter was upset, and needed room to breathe - but Bucky was there for him. He needed Peter to know that.

Peter came to a stop at the end of the driveway, where Natasha had been standing moments earlier. Their entire situation reminded Bucky of a merry-go-round - one person experiencing something, then another going through the same scenario. Apologies given, then revoked not long after. A family put together, then torn apart, again, and again, and again. Over and over, until it was barely a family anymore, but simply a mosaic - pieces which fit well together, but had other possible uses. And now some of those pieces were scarred, frayed at the edges, so they couldn’t fit together no matter how hard one tried.

“Come to remind me of how great your best friend is?” Peter called out snarkily without turning around. Bucky stepped forward until he was standing beside Peter, arms shoved in his pockets, staring straight ahead.

“The opposite, actually.” Bucky saw Peter look at him in surprise from his peripherals. “I’m here to tell you, I’m on your side in this whole thing.”

Peter scoffed and turned back around. “Is this a good cop, bad cop thing?”

“With everything I’ve been through with Steve, you really think they’d choose  _ me  _ to be good cop? I couldn’t act mad with him if I tried.” Bucky shrugged, exhaling sharply, creating a cloud in the night air. “So I’m not acting.”

Peter made a noise in the back of his throat, sounding pleased. He didn’t say anything else.

“Listen, I’m sorry they…  _ we _ … came to that decision without consulting with you first. Ultimately, it  _ is  _ your choice on whether or not to forgive… although I don’t know why they all want to….” Bucky added that last part under his breath, but Peter tensed. He had heard it.

“So you really, really don’t forgive him?”

Bucky shivered, standing still, watching an empty street in the dead of night. Too many negative memories were associated with this one action.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said in the place of an answer as he set off down the street - but one was coming. They just had to get off of that damn driveway.

Peter fell into step alongside Bucky. Bucky was concerned that he might have to slow down to let the boy catch up, but, like the way that Bucky was comforted by his long strides, Peter liked his quick ones.

“Steve is….” Bucky thought of what to say as they walked. “He’s not who he used to be. I barely recognize him anymore.” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking of the truth behind that statement. Everything good Steve used to represent had all been thrown away in light of this new decision, and none of it was left in the aftermath.

Peter sighed. “Do you think… I could forgive him? Eventually? I mean, will you?”

Bucky was quick to shake his head. “No. Never.”

“But he’s… my  _ Pops _ , you know? And there used to be so much  _ good  _ between us-”

“When something this bad happens, there’s no room left for the good,” Bucky snapped - then, he realized he was being stern. This was a huge development for him, but it was even larger, held more weight, for Peter. He had to be more compassionate, comforting.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky continued in a quieter voice. “If you think you can forgive him… that’s great. It seems like everyone else wants to, so it’ll all work out in the end.”

Peter didn’t speak for a moment. Then, in a soft voice, he repeated his question.

“Will you?”

Bucky searched the darkness for something - a sign, anything to answer this question, change his mind. When he didn’t see anything, he answered in a single, predetermined word.

“No.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Tony looked around the room in shock, meeting the eyes of everyone there. They all looked surprised and… was that disappointment?

Everyone wanted to forgive Steve, and they were all so prepared to - well, maybe not  _ everyone _ . They had forgotten about the person whose opinion mattered the most, and had gotten lost in their own heads, their own false superiority, in the process.

Steve stepped forward, looking worriedly in the direction Peter had just run. “Should I go-”

“No.” Tony laid a gentle arm across his chest. “I think Barnes went after him. If he saw you….” Tony looked up at Steve, and saw the man’s wide, nervous eyes. Steve had something he desperately wanted within his grasp - and then, to have it all suddenly ripped away….

“I’m sorry,” Tony muttered, trying to make eye contact with Steve - but he kept his attention focused on the hallway through which Peter just ran. “He’ll come around-”

“No,” Steve whispered, shaking his head. “He won’t.”

“Maybe you could just talk to him-”

“Do you think he could bear staying in the same room as me?”

Tony gripped Steve’s arms, forcing the man to look down at him. “We’ll try. You’re his Pops. He has to know you had his best interests at heart, and soon he’ll work his way back to forgiving you. I did.”

Steve smiled at Tony, but it was small, disbelieving. Steve wasn’t sure if Peter would ever forgive him. After all, he was a monster - and who could forgive a monster?

“Please, just try,” Tony pleaded. “Tonight. You can talk to him and clear up some stuff. I’ll be in the room, so he won’t feel  _ completely  _ alone-”

Natasha stepped forward then, clearing her throat. “All due respect, Stark, but I don’t think Peter believes you two are in the same boat. If anything, he’d feel safest with Barnes.”

Tony eyes met hers in disgust. “How could Peter trust who’s essentially an estranged uncle over his dad?”

“Bucky’s the only one who didn’t forgive Steve,” Sam said slowly, purposely keeping his eyes on Tony to pretend he didn’t see Steve’s flinch. “Peter needs someone who he feels is on his side, and right now, you…  _ aren’t _ ,” Sam put simply, although not unkindly. Still, Tony’s expression hardened.

“That’s not fair. I’m his Dad, Steve is his Pops, and he should be  _ listening  _ to us-”

“Tones.” Tony’s attention was brought to Rhodes in the back of the group, and his gaze immediately softened. “This is out of your control. It’s just the facts. Now, we should move on to other, more important things, like what to do if Peter… decides  _ not  _ to forgive Steve.”

Natasha looked around the group, meeting everyone’s eyes. Taking the leadership role, as always.

“Maybe we should sit down for this.”

◊ ◊ ◊

A few minutes later, there were enough chairs for an Avengers-sized gathering. Tony and Steve were sitting on the couch, close enough to be held and supported by each other. No one else joined them on the couch although there was room to. They needed that space.

The armchair in the corner was shared between Natasha and Wanda, with the former sitting on the armrest and the latter with a bracing hand on her arm. The remaining three were sitting on dining room chairs that had been moved to form a wide circle around the couch. Bruce was beside Natasha and opposite Wanda, Rhodes was between him and Tony, and Sam was between Steve and Wanda. It was a circle focused solely on Tony and Steve, and how they wanted to deal with the coming issue.

Steve sighed, looking down at his lap. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, and I swear it won’t happen again.”

Tony rested a hand on Steve’s arm. “Shh. It’s okay, babe, don’t worry-”

“Tony.” Natasha gave Tony a stern look that essentially said,  _ let Steve talk _ .

“Romanoff, he already apologized. He already owned up to his mistakes-”

“You think a single conversation could clear his name?” Steve flinched, and a flash of regret crossed Natasha’s features. She blinked it away. “Let him speak.”

“It’s okay,” Steve murmured to Tony, and he slowly repositioned himself on the couch so there was some space between the two of them. “I know, I know I did an awful thing, but I didn’t mean for things to escalate the way they did. This was never my intention, and I’m sorry it worked out this way.”

The room was quiet, each person locked in their own thoughts. Tony reached for Steve’s hand, but Steve pulled it away. He wanted everyone to come to their own conclusions, without Tony’s influence.

“Okay.” Natasha nodded at Steve. “That’s good enough for me.” Mutters of agreement echoed around the room, and Steve wanted to smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to. If he hadn’t made that horrible decision in the first place, there would be no need for forgiveness now - but there they were.

“So,” Rhodes took the responsibility of continuing the conversation “If Peter can find it in himself to forgive you….”

“Problem solved,” Wanda continued with a pleased nod. “Best case scenario.”

“But if he doesn’t….” Bruce muttered almost to himself as he looked at the floor.

No one spoke for a minute, everyone scared to voice it, until Sam took the leap. “We have to be ready to respect that.”

Tony leaned forward anxiously. “Which means…?”

“You have to be ready to cut me off,” Steve finished with a sigh, looking down at his fiddling hands in his lap. “Send me away. Pretend you don’t know me.”

Tony’s head snapped to the side to stare at Steve with wide eyes. His breaths were quickening, and he sounded like he was on the verge of a panic attack. “No. No, that  _ can’t  _ be the answer-” He looked around the room for help, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “No. I  _ can’t  _ let you go.”

“You were more than happy to before,” Steve joked with a half-smile, but it was choked with tears. Tony just shook his head.

“I’m not doing that. I’ll do anything  _ but  _ that,” Tony pleaded, but Steve just shook his head.

“Our-  _ your _ ,” he corrected with a pained expression, “son is… he’s not safe around me. If I need to leave for him to feel comfortable  again, then I’ll… I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for him.” Steve met Tony’s gaze with tearful eyes. “I love him.”

Tony couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t  _ breathe _ . Sure, Steve had done some shit - but he apologized. It wasn’t his fault - well, not really - and he had dealt with the consequences. Tony couldn’t  _ kick him out _ . Tony trusted Steve. He had trusted him enough to raise a child with. Steve couldn’t just…  _ leave! _

But what about Peter? What was best for him? Maybe he didn’t want to be near Steve, but what if he  _ needs  _ to? People don’t always know what they need. What if sending Steve away would be a mistake? Didn’t Peter need  _ both  _ of his dads?

“We’re not there yet,” Natasha said quietly with a sympathetic smile. “Let’s wait for Peter’s decision first. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“When do you think that decision will come?” Tony asked desperately, eyes pleading. Natasha looked up at the clock that hung above the doorway.

“Not tonight. We should all get some sleep. It’s late.” The group began to move at once, all rearranging chairs. Natasha stepped through the group to stand in front of the couch, looking down at Tony and Steve with a small smile. “I’m sure it’ll turn out okay.”

Steve smiled and nodded appreciatively while Tony just pressed closer against his side. Natasha followed the rest of the group out of the room, going as fast as they had come, leaving Tony and Steve alone on the couch.

“I should call Bucky,” Steve murmured into Tony’s hair. “Tell him to bring Peter back inside.”

Tony hummed in agreement. “In a minute” were the words he said, but more importantly was what went  _ un _ said.  _ Let’s preserve this moment for a little longer. Let’s be a family one more night _ \- and Steve agreed. So, he didn’t call.

Steve fell asleep on the couch where he was, Bucky long forgotten, with Tony curled atop his chest. Neither of them got much sleep that night, Steve knew - they were both relishing in what might’ve been their last night together. And if Steve noticed Tony shed a few tears and clutch onto him a little tighter, he didn’t say anything, because Steve was doing the same.

◊ ◊ ◊

_ Tony and Steve had never established what they were. They weren’t boyfriends, and they definitely weren’t husbands - they were just two souls in love. In this business, that was dangerous. You wanted to make as little connections as possible, because there was always the overhanging fear of injury and death. It was by chance that these two fell in love - awful, awful chance - and they were scared to take it further, for good reason. _

_ But they did, by adopting Peter. They took it one step further by adopting a child and raising him as their own, and unwillingly introducing him to the world of superheroes and villains, wins and losses, lives and deaths. And now, Peter’s predicament was on their heads. _

_ They never wanted it to come to this. They had never established what they were - but the universe had figured it out for them, in a cruel, twisted way. They were star-crossed lovers; accidental, but always doomed to fail. _

◊ ◊ ◊

As soon as the compound came into view, Peter’s anger came flooding back full-force. He stopped walking and planted his heels in the ground the second the lights appeared through the trees, and he heard a muffled curse from Bucky behind him - but it was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“Peter?” Bucky tried to say from behind him, but Peter wasn’t listening. There was a red tint growing around the edges of his eyes, focusing in on the building, his own personal house of horrors, filled with betrayal and mistakes that couldn’t be revoked.

“Peter. Hey.” A sudden wall of mass crossed Peter’s vision and he looked up, startled. Bucky was standing above him with his hands on Peter’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “You alright?”

Peter just stared back, as if he didn’t understand the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth - because he  _ didn’t _ . He wasn’t focused. How could he be? He was about to enter the compound, and if Steve wasn’t gone, well then, Peter would just have to kick him out himself.

Bucky shook him again, and Peter refocused his eyes on the man in front of him.

“Breathe, Peter. You have to calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Peter grumbled, trying to step away from Bucky’s hands - but Bucky just tightened his grip. “He - he just gave me away.  _ He  _ was the reason why I was gone for two months - and he claimed to be my Pops, he claimed to  _ love  _ me-”

“Okay.” Bucky struggled to hold Peter, trying to find the delicate balance between controlling his own enhanced abilities, and restraining another superpowered individual. “Okay, Peter, I  _ understand _ -”

“ _ You don’t! _ ” Peter shouted, and Bucky had to pull Peter flush against his chest to hold him back. “You  _ don’t  _ understand, and now everyone’s already forgiven him but  _ I don’t  _ and I have to go back in there and face him and  _ he  _ was the one to give me up,  _ he did it _ -”

Peter’s words faded away and he collapsed all at once, Bucky having to move his hands under Peter’s elbows to keep the boy upright. Peter fell lax and cried against Bucky’s chest, the older man supporting him with ease and hugging him closer.

Bucky closed his eyes and rested his chin atop Peter’s head as he adjusted his hands around Peter’s back, effectively hugging him in a tight embrace. He shushed Peter quietly, comfortingly, and allowed Peter to just  _ breathe  _ \- or cry, whatever he needed. Because Bucky was supporting him. Bucky was  _ taking care  _ of him - and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Eventually Peter’s sobs subsided and he sighed, relaxing in Bucky’s hold.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, but Bucky shook his head.

“No. You’re not.” Peter shook his head, body shaking. Bucky shushed him subconsciously. “That’s okay. No one expects you to be.”

“ _ They  _ do.”

“No. No, they don’t; they just don’t understand. They think you should be better by now so they treat you like it. They don’t know that you’re still healing.”

Peter sniffled. “Can we go inside?”

Bucky thought for a minute. Worst case scenario, Steve was still inside - but he wouldn’t  _ do  _ anything to Peter… right? No, Bucky was fairly certain he wouldn’t. They just had to keep Steve away from Peter for now, because Peter was doing well, and he didn’t need any outside forces to… set him off again. He was on the road to recovery. The last thing he needed was a red light.

“Okay,” Bucky murmured, and removed his arms from Peter - but Peter didn’t step back. He pressed himself against Bucky’s side and tucked himself under Bucky’s arm, and Bucky looked down at him with a small smile. Peter, however, wasn’t looking back - he was focused solely on the compound in front of them. Bucky thought he saw Peter’s face pale, but maybe he just imagined it, because it was  _ Peter  _ who had asked to go inside in the first place.

The two trudged to the front door, but it was then that Bucky stepped in front of Peter and shielded the younger boy’s body with his own.

“I’m going to go in first, okay bud?” Peter nodded shakily, eyes focused on the door that Bucky gently pushed open.

Bucky took a tentative step inside, not surprised by the fact that there was no one around. It was midnight, after all.

Peter reached for Bucky’s hand and gripped it like a lifeline, trailing behind him like a lost puppy and leaving Bucky to walk through the house sideways in order to accomodate Peter.

Bucky led the way down the hall, but stopped when he got to the entrance of the living room. He poked his head in slowly, but straightened all of a sudden when he saw Steve and Tony curled up together on the couch. He turned to Peter, who was looking at him with wide eyes - that suddenly turned hard.

“Is Steve in there?” he asked in a low voice, but Bucky didn’t answer, instead opting to pull Peter toward the staircase. Peter complied, though not without a final glance at the doorway leading to the living room.

Bucky led Peter into his bedroom and let go of his hand, and Peter trudged over to his bed, head bowed. He sat on the edge and tucked his hands beneath his thighs, looking down at them. Bucky leaned awkwardly against the doorway and stared off somewhere through the opposite wall.

It was silent for a moment, neither one speaking, neither one knowing what to say. Then, after a while, Peter spoke up with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “You should.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?” Bucky turned to look at Peter after a moment of silence, and Peter looked back up at him, eyes red. Bucky stepped towards the bed, eyes growing sympathetic. “Nightmares?”

Peter shook his head, taking a shaky breath. “Daymares.” Bucky took a slow seat on the bed beside Peter, giving him a look that urged him to continue. “It’s just….  _ They _ never really allowed me to sleep. Or eat, or do anything, really. But sleeping especially….” Bucky tried to ignore how much Peter’s words got to him, tried to keep his expression neutral. “So if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up all of a sudden and… I’ll worry that-”

“They’ll come for you,” Bucky finished solemnly, and Peter nodded, looking down at his legs.

Bucky didn’t want to try to reassure Peter that no one was coming for him, that he was safe here - because Steve was here, for one; but also, he knew Peter wouldn’t believe him. That was something Peter would have to realize for himself. Instead, Bucky focused on something else.

“Peter, when you were there, did you… did you shower?”

Bucky thought back to a time when, if he was asked this question, Peter would make a joke about  _ what, do I smell?  _ and forcibly, constrictingly, suffocatingly hug whoever was nearby. Now, though, he looked down at his knees and shook his head, ashamed.

“Hey.” Bucky laid a gentle hand on Peter’s knee, and Peter looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assured quietly, and Peter sniffled. “You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“Then why was I there?” Peter whispered, leaning forward, desperate for an answer. “Why couldn’t I escape?”

Bucky’s heart sank. The words coming out of Peter’s mouth were all too familiar. Bucky himself had written them down and read them off a page, over and over, when he was recovering - and now, to hear them out loud, to hear someone else going through the same things  _ he  _ had experienced.... It sent shivers down his spine.

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” Bucky whispered, bowing his head to comfortably make eye contact with Peter, who now had tears flowing down his face. “I swear to you, Peter, that wasn’t your fault. None of this was.”

“It sure feels like it is.”

Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap and his shoulders hunched. He wasn’t crying anymore - it seemed as though all the tears had already been shed. Now, he was just… weighed down.

Bucky wanted to put a hand on Peter’s back, but restrained himself at the last minute. He didn’t know what unwelcome touch would do to him in this state.

“Why don’t we go get you cleaned up?” he murmured, and Peter’s head moved in a shaky nod. Bucky reached under Peter’s elbow and helped him to his feet, leading him into the bathroom and turning on the light for him. Bucky was about to close the door and turn away when he realized Peter wasn’t moving.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and Peter looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I- I don’t know,” he admitted, then searched the bathroom for whatever had made him nervous. Bucky understood  _ this _ , too. Something was upsetting Peter, triggering his memory - something that would’ve been huge, like a signal flare, when he was in captivity, but was now something so miniscule that it could go unnoticed. As Peter tried to decipher what it was, Bucky stepped carefully around him and turned on the water to the shower, turning suddenly when he heard a faint squeal from behind him.

Peter’s eyes were wide and his legs were trembling as he stared at the water now falling from the showerhead. He tried to take a step back but he tripped over his feet and went sprawling. Bucky reached forward just in time and caught his head, kneeling on the ground beside the boy. With one hand he felt behind him and turned off the hose, the water stopping its descent just as quickly as it had started.

Bucky looked back to Peter, whose eyes were slowly beginning to return from their nightmarish memory. Panic was fading, and was being replaced with… with  _ more  _ panic - but of a different kind. The kind that was coming to terms with their situation, realized they had just had a mini panic-attack in public.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, eyes looking anywhere but at Bucky as his wobbly arms tried to support him enough to push himself to a sitting position - and subconsciously, Bucky realized, push him away from danger, danger being the water… and Bucky himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Bucky tried to step closer to Peter to reassure him, but Peter flinched so heavily he almost fell back to the cool tiles. Bucky slowly moved back, arms raised.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay, I’ll- I’m staying right here.”

Peter was still mumbling  _ I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry sorry sorry  _ under his breath as he inched further and further away, his entire body trembling like a leaf. Bucky took another step backward until he felt the tub at his back and stayed there, waiting for Peter’s retreating to come to a stop.

The whispers of  _ sorry sorry sorry  _ echoed off the walls, faint, but still evident among the silences of midnight that rang through the compound. Bucky shook his head, very, very slowly, and smiled in what he hoped was a soft, comforting way.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he held his hands up, palms out in front of him. He took a slow step forward, like he was dealing with a wounded animal. He was pleased to see that Peter didn’t flinch from where he was lying just outside of the bathroom doorway. “You did nothing wrong.” Bucky stepped forward lightly, using his training as an assassin to help him drift over the tile so Peter wasn’t startled by jagged steps.

“It’s okay,” he repeated just as he reached Peter, the younger boy still shaking, albeit gentler, and breathing heavy. Bucky let his hands drift forward to find Peter’s, and his fingers gently stroked along the backs of Peter’s hands. Peter tensed, and Bucky froze - but after a moment, Peter took a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed, falling to their normal heights. Bucky’s hands wrapped fully around Peter’s, enveloping them in his own, and Bucky slowly moved himself to his feet, bringing Peter along with him.

Peter’s eyes were still wide, but now they were a little less frightened and a little more pleading. Desperate. And maybe, just maybe, they were a tiny bit hopeful.

Peter allowed Bucky to pull him over to the sink, and when Bucky let go of his hands to search for a washcloth in the cabinets, Peter let his hands drift to grip the edges of the sink. Bucky resurfaced with the washcloth and turned on the tap, extremely slow so only a gentle stream trickled out, with lukewarm temperature. He ran the washcloth under the stream, dampening it in its entirety, before turning off the tap and turning back to Peter.

He gently cupped Peter’s chin with his right hand and ran the washcloth across his face with his left. Peter closed his eyes and sighed deeply,  _ comfortably _ , letting Bucky wash his face, then his neck. When it was time, Peter groggily rolled up his sleeves to give Bucky access to his arms. Bucky couldn’t clean Peter’s torso - he didn’t feel Peter was ready for that yet - but that was okay, because at least Peter was ready for  _ something _ .

Peter slowly drifted into sleep, letting his body slump forward. Bucky had to drop the washcloth in order to catch him, and he slowly brought Peter to his bed, laying him down gently.

Bucky straightened up and looked down at Peter, a plethora of emotions running through his mind. Protectiveness. Caution. Sympathy.  _ Pride _ \- because Peter was unlike him in some ways, and like him in so many more, but Peter was doing more than he ever had. He was making the conscious effort to do more than Bucky had - and Bucky was  _ proud _ .

Bucky wasn’t going to let his own mistakes repeat themselves with Peter. He’d do whatever it took to return Peter to his former self, and that was a promise.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter delivers his final verdict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally made it! The last chapter!!  
> Exactly six months ago, I posted the first chapter of Come Back to Me. 25 chapters, 105k words later, we've finally reached it - the endgame.  
> Not gonna lie, I teared up when I got to the last few lines. This is the story that started my own personal Irondad journey, that got me so involved in the fandom, that introduced me to so many amazing people, and now it's coming to an end. I'm probably getting emotional over nothing, but it feels pretty huge to me.  
> Thank you guys for everything. I really hope you enjoy this. <3

Steve woke to gentle rays of sunlight streaming across the living room, casting him and his love in a golden glow. Tony lay on the couch with him, resting atop Steve and he lay flat across the cushions. Steve smiled gently, letting the serenity of the moment wash over him – Tony resting on his chest, smiling sweetly in his sleep, breathing calm and level, like it never seemed to be lately.

Steve lay a gentle hand on Tony’s back and stroked his thumb along Tony’s spine, sighing as he looked down at his love’s peaceful expression. How he longed for the times when his biggest worry would’ve been waking Tony up. Now, Steve was worried he might lose Tony altogether.

Tony stirred, as if sensing Steve’s apprehension, and tilted his head so he could fully see Steve’s expression. Tony smiled, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to. He settled for stroking Tony’s back with increased pressure.

“Hey,” Tony whispered, mouthing the words more than saying them. Steve tried to smile, but even he could tell it was tight-lipped and didn’t reach his eyes. Tony’s brow furrowed in worry and he placed his hands on the couch on either side of Steve to elevate himself. “Are you okay?”

Steve couldn’t lie. He turned his head away from Tony and looked out the large window on the opposite side of the room, sighing deeply.

Tony repositioned himself so he was straddling Steve and cupped Steve’s face between his hands. All Steve could do was look back at Tony and frown.

Tony leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered, lips warm against Steve’s skin. Steve breathed deeply, inhaling Tony’s scent, and nodded slightly, even if he didn’t believe it.

“Now.” Tony stepped over Steve to land on the floor beside the couch. He rubbed his hands together, as if he was getting rid of past experiences – or preparing for new ones. “Breakfast.”

Steve watched Tony disappear somewhere behind his head, and let the worry overtake his expression once more. He ran a hand over his forehead and rested it over his eyes. Shit. What was going to happen today?

He pushed himself off the couch and drifted into the kitchen after Tony, feeling like a ghost. Tony smiled at Steve as he sat at the kitchen island before turning back to the stove and cracking an egg into a sizzling pan with ease.

Steve wasn’t even willing to pretend anymore. He wanted to slump over the island, rest his face on the cool surface, and just give in. This was day four,  _ four _ , after getting his son back, and he already risked losing him again.

He hadn’t realized he was losing track of time daydreaming (day-maring?) until Tony slid a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter towards him and kissed him on the cheek.

Tony took a seat at the opposite end of the island and watched Steve push the scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork. It was upsetting, and Tony hated it, every second of it. He hated seeing his love in pain. It wasn’t awful, what Steve had done. He had Peter’s best interests at heart. Plus, Tony had forgiven him. He just wished Peter would do the same.

“Will it?”

Tony refocused on the present at the sound of Steve’s voice and saw Steve had put down his fork, food touched, and was now staring at Tony.

“Will it… what?”

“Will it get better?” Steve’s voice was quiet, reserved, as if he already knew the answer – and hated it.

Tony looked at him as if he were crazy. “Of course it will-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve murmured, shaking his head slightly. “Will it get better? Especially if Peter- if he doesn’t-“

Steve couldn’t finish, and Tony couldn’t complete the question, nor answer it. Up until now, he had been… well, he had been lying. Trying to reassure both Steve and himself, but he couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t lie. It was time to face the truth, the very real truth – that Peter might  _ not  _ forgive Steve. Steve would lose a kid, and Tony would lose the one person he ever truly loved.

Without a word, without looking at Steve, Tony stood from the table and moved his plate to the sink, then walked to stand behind Steve. He gently wrapped his arms around him to clasp them over his chest and leaned forward, closing his eyes and laying his chin on Steve’s shoulder, a single tear falling down his cheek. Steve reached up and gripped Tony’s hands within his own, and there they sat, breathing. Just breathing.

◊ ◊ ◊

Peter woke with a feeling of dread in his chest. Though he hid it well, though no one knew, Peter was conflicted. This decision wasn’t as easy as the others thought, as they made it seem. Steve had betrayed him, and that was awful, almost unforgivable – almost. Because Steve was still his Pops.

Peter had been thinking a lot about his relationship with his father recently. He had been reflecting on runs around Central Park, Steve slowing down to give Peter a chance to win. Steve lecturing Peter in the principal’s office about not fighting with his peers, while Peter tried to hide the knowing smirk on his face, because there was definitely pride behind that phony glare. Steve trying to teach Peter to draw, but all that he could,  _ would _ , sketch was half of the Spider-Man mask and half of the Iron Man helmet surrounded by Captain America’s shield – Steve protecting his world.

Peter lay unmoving on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, but really looking through it, at memories that only surfaced in the wake of tragedy. Silent, hot tears began to fall at the thought of his protector, his  _ father _ , losing the importance he previously held in Peter’s life.

By Steve agreeing to work with HYDRA, he was essentially saying,  _ I see Peter, my son, as nothing more than his powers _ , and judging Peter on that one aspect; but if Peter refused to forgive him, wouldn’t he be doing the same? Could guilt be measured? And if so, what was the weight of their sins? Were they equal, an eye for an eye, or was one horribly greater than the other? Did the refusal of forgiveness equal the weight of the unforgivable act itself?

Peter pushed himself up off his bed and- he was still dressed, in the clothes he was wearing the night before. Why hadn’t he changed into his pajamas? If Peter was remembering correctly, he was in the right frame of mind to have changed – no. No, he  _ wasn’t  _ in the right frame of mind. He had stormed out, and- and Bucky had followed him, yeah, and then- shit.  _ Now  _ Peter remembered. He had experienced a momentary relapse. In front of  _ Bucky _ .

He had to apologize.

“Friday?” he called out tentatively. The voice that responded startled him in a way he was surprised it would. It had been a while since he spoke to a disembodied voice.

“Welcome home, Peter,” the A.I. responded warmly – and though Peter was startled, he smiled at her familiarity.

“Yeah, um, thanks. I- I missed you.” Could A.I.s miss people? Could people miss A.I.s? Peter wouldn’t have put it past Tony to program that. But even if that wasn’t possible, if Friday  _ didn’t  _ miss Peter, he could honestly say he missed her. Her voice brought him back to simpler times, times before… well, times when they were still a family. When Peter was still  _ a part of _ a family.

Peter stood from the bed and stretched before remembering why he even called Friday in the first place. He was looking for Bucky.

“Friday?”

“Yes, Peter?”

Peter hated the way he jumped at her response. For one, he had initiated the conversation – and, he should be used to her voice by now. He had been before!

Whatever. He just… he just had to heal, maybe. Give himself more time.

Peter wished that time had already passed. He wished he had healed already. He wished he never even needed to heal in the  _ first  _ place. He wished they had never taken him. He wished Steve had never given him away. He wished he had higher self-esteem so he wasn’t somehow believing that this was  _ his  _ fault. That he should’ve escaped sooner. He shouldn’t be this seriously affected – it had only been a few months in captivity, after all. He should be  _ better  _ by now.

But most of all, Peter wished he was a better son. That’s what all this boiled down to, wasn’t it? If Peter was a better son, Steve wouldn’t have given him up. If Peter was a better son, he would’ve actually listened when Tony told him to “be strong” and when Steve instructed him to “always get back up”, and he would’ve fought his way out sooner.

If Peter was a better son, this wouldn’t have been his fault – but it was.

It was all his fault, and Peter was just… Peter.

Right now, Peter was the worst thing to be.

◊ ◊ ◊

Sam reentered the compound after his morning jog, breathing heavy as he headed through the dimly-lit building toward the kitchen. What he saw there made him want to turn back, but he persisted. The Avengers couldn’t just avoid Steve and Tony like the plague, even if they were hugging at the kitchen island.

“Wilson.” Tony straightened when he saw Sam, who gave a small wave in response. Steve smiled at him, but Sam looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen. Sure, Sam had been on team  _ forgiving Steve _ , but that didn’t mean he was entirely comfortable with Steve’s actions. That didn’t mean he could still smile at Steve like the two were old friends, because the fact of the matter was, they weren’t - not anymore.

Sam shook off that thought and stepped toward the counter, where he saw a plate of eggs. He picked it up along with a fork from the drawer and began eating, leaning against the sink and staring at Steve and Tony as he did so.

Tony was staring back at him with wide, betrayed eyes.

“Those are my eggs.”

“I don’t see you eating them.”

Sam didn’t falter in lifting the fork to his lips, and Tony scowled. Steve laughed, and Sam’s eyes flashed momentarily to him before he sobered and looked back to his plate.

He didn’t feel entirely comfortable around Steve. He wanted to, but he didn’t. Maybe he just needed more time.

Sam deposited the now-empty plate in the sink and started heading up the stairs to take a shower, ignoring Steve as he went.

“You’re welcome for breakfast,” Tony shouted after him, and Sam waved behind him, too tired to make one of his usual quips – but, not physically tired, mentally tired. _ Emotionally _ tired. This betrayal, this broken family shit, was exhausting.

Sam walked by a hallway of closed doors to get to his own room, but stopped when he passed Peter’s. The door was ajar, and Peter was sitting upright on his bed.

Sam watched him for a moment, debating. Did he go in, or leave Peter to whatever thoughts were in his head?

He might as well go talk to Peter, see how he was doing, apologize for forgiving Steve before Peter got the chance to.

Sam pushed open the door and took a half-step into the room, Peter looking up suddenly with wide eyes at being startled out of his thoughts – but then Sam smiled, and Peter relaxed, if only slightly.

“Hey there, Peter.” Sam stood in the doorway, not wanting to go closer. Peter looked better, but still on edge, and so Sam kept his distance.

“Hi,” Peter answered in a soft voice, giving Sam a small smile before turning his attention down to his lap.

“How did you sleep?”  _ Did you sleep at all? _

“Good.” Peter smiled up at Sam, but it was fleeting – more of a courtesy – before he looked down again.

Sam nodded, though Peter couldn’t see him, and made himself comfortable against the doorframe, his shower forgotten. His attention was focused undividedly on Peter.

“How’ve you been feeling lately?”

Peter began twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “Better.” When Sam didn’t answer, Peter continued, still not making eye contact. “I mean, I- I think I’m back to normal.”

“And what makes you think that?” Sam kept his tone light, hands tucked into his track pant pockets. He didn’t want Peter to know he was assessing him - his progress, his recovery.

Peter sighed in minor frustration. “I don’t know, I- I feel better, but then again, I also felt better last time when Steve-” Peter cut himself off, took a few deep breaths. Sam watched him in silent sympathy.

“When Steve what?”

Peter looked up at Sam then, but his eyes were wide and filled with anger. Sam stared back, unwavering.

“When Steve yelled at me. Called me ‘sweetie’, caused me to relapse. I heard them talking about it, Steve and Tony. They didn’t think I was listening, but I was. I thought I was back to normal, but I wasn’t, and they- they said the only way to get me back-”

Peter’s voice wavered, and his face fell. He slumped forward, letting his head fall in his hands.

“What if I’m not back to normal?” he whispered, voice harrowing. Sam swallowed thickly. “What if someone makes me relapse again? I don’t want to, that was awful, I won’t-”

“Hey.  _ Hey. _ ” Sam stepped forward quickly to kneel in front of Peter, placing his hands on Peter’s knees. Peter took a shaky breath and looked up, eyes red. “No one,  _ no one  _ is going to make you relapse. There’s no need for that again, because you’re  _ healing _ , alright?” Peter’s eyes grew wider, desperate for assurance, for proof. Sam tightened his grip, grounding Peter.

“The worst is over.”

Peter smiled then – a real, genuine smile. Tears glistened in his eyes and he fell forward, trusting Sam to catch him, and of course, he did. Sam caught Peter and lowered him to the floor, tucking Peter’s head against his chest and just breathing as Peter sobbed grateful tears.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Sam whispered into Peter’s hair. “I’m sorry this happened to you, and I’m sorry… I forgave Steve, before you could.”

There it was. Rip off the Band-Aid.

Peter tensed, but didn’t pull away, and Sam held him tighter as Peter took a calming breath.

“Do you think I should forgive him?” Peter’s voice was quiet, contemplative, and Sam had a feeling that if he told Peter what to do, he would do it – and that’s why Sam couldn’t.

“I can’t tell you that, Peter.” Peter slumped against Sam, and Sam just adjusted his grip to hold him better. “It’s something you have to decide for yourself. But I hope you know, everyone here will support you, no matter what.”

“No, you won’t.”

Sam froze, bowing his head to look Peter in the eyes.

“Of course we will, Peter. We’re all on your side-”

“If I do what you want.”

Sam pressed his lips in a thin line as he repositioned the two of them so he was looking Peter in the eyes – Peter, who had now put his guard up. His eyes were slightly narrowed and his shoulders pressed back as he stared at Sam.

Peter’s eyes softened slightly when he saw how worried Sam was looking at him.

“Okay, maybe not  _ you _ , but… you know, Bucky, he’s really against everything Steve did, and I think Natasha is, too, but it’s hard to get a read on her. And Dad….” Peter trailed off, running his hands through his hair to pull at strands. Sam reached forward and held onto Peter’s wrists, gently pulling them from his hair.

Peter sighed, looking at the floor. “Dad, he  _ hated  _ Pops, and he yelled, and he was furious… but now, he’s fine, and he’s defending Pops, and I don’t want-”

“You don’t want him to hate you.” Peter nodded shakily, and Sam sighed. Peter flinched. “Peter, I wasn’t sighing at you. It’s just… it’s a father’s job to love his child.”

“It’s also a father’s job to not give his child to terrorists.”

Sam sighed and looked down. “Peter-”

Peter jumped to his feet, looking down at Sam. “No. Don’t you talk to me in that disappointing tone.”

“I wasn’t-”

“No! Everyone thinks this is  _ so  _ easy, that I just have to make a decision.” Peter began pacing the room, waving his hands as he went. Sam backed up to watch him, brow furrowing in worry and apology that Peter didn’t notice with how furiously he was yelling. “He’s my  _ Pops _ . He’s my Pops, and he handed me over to terrorists, but he’s still my  _ Pops!  _ And my Dad forgave him, and he wants  _ me  _ to forgive him, but I don’t think I can! And if I  _ don’t _ , will Dad hate me? Will he kick me out?”

“You know Tony will  _ never _ -”

“You don’t know that!” Peter cried, storming over to Sam to look down at him. “You don’t know anything.  _ I  _ don’t know anything! This is uncharted territory! No one’s Pops had ever thrown then to terrorists! And I’m an  _ Avenger!  _ I should’ve been able to fight my way out but I  _ didn’t!  _ Am I even worthy to be here?”

Peter burst into tears, sinking to his knees until he was lying on the carpet in front of Sam.

“Maybe Tony should kick me out.”

“No. No, no Peter….” Sam tried to reach out for Peter’s arm but he flinched away, shaking his head so rapidly, his sobs were more like startled gasps. “Peter.” Peter didn’t respond. His head was in his hands and he was gripping his hair, pulling out strands.

“Peter, I need you to listen to me-”

Sam didn’t have the chance to finish. He looked up suddenly when someone else entered the room and saw Bucky, his eyes focused solely on Peter.

Sam stood to move out of Bucky’s way as he took a seat beside Peter, crouching to better see him with a hand hovering over Peter’s back - not making contact, but still providing comfort.

“Hey. Hey, Pete, it’s okay, you’re alright,” Bucky soothed in a voice Sam had never heard him use before. Peter shook his head, but his sobs were quieting. “Yes, you  _ are _ . You’re here. You’re with me, everything’s okay.”

Peter took a few deep breaths, shoulders trembling. Bucky gently let his hand drop on Peter’s shoulder and began to stroke his fingers gently along Peter’s shoulder bone. Peter took a shuddering breath at the contact and leaned backward against Bucky’s side, Bucky reaching an arm around his shoulders to support him.

Sam watched with a furrowed brow as he leaned against the doorway, his eyes focused on how gentle Bucky’s  _ metal arm  _ was as it stroked Peter’s shoulder. A metal arm that was made to shoot and injure and harm and kill, used now for kindness and comforting and tenderness and  _ humanity _ . As Sam turned and stepped out of the room, a soft smile crossed his face. Though the circumstances were horrifying, Sam couldn’t help but think that Bucky deserved this, this chance to redeem himself - at least, in his own eyes. Though Sam knew Bucky was good long before this moment, it was nice that Bucky was finally realizing it for himself.

◊ ◊ ◊

Steve was just beginning to feel safe and  _ happy _ when voices began to echo from the floor above.

_ “No! Everyone thinks this is so easy, that I just have to make a decision.”  _ Steve tilted his head back to meet Tony’s eyes at the sound of their son’s voice, their son’s  _ shouting _ , but Tony kept his attention facing forward. He began to rub his hands along Steve’s shoulders, giving him a massage that probably caused more knots than it relieved.

_ “He’s my Pops. He’s my Pops, and he handed me over to terrorists, but he’s still my Pops!”  _ Steve grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the words - but it was too late. They were already echoing around his skull. _ “And my Dad forgave him, and he wants me to forgive him, but I don’t think I can! And if I don’t, will Dad hate me? Will he kick me out?” _

Tony’s hands froze from where they were applying pressure to Steve’s shoulders. Steve could feel his own blood run cold from that statement. He tilted his head back to look at Tony, but Tony wasn’t looking back at him - his eyes were wide, focused straight ahead, as his fingers clenched tighter around Steve’s shoulders.

“Hey. Hey, Tony.” Steve reached up to touch Tony’s hands, and Tony pulled away as if he had been burnt. He stared down at Steve with wide, horrified eyes, and Steve lifted his hands in a surrendering gesture. He was going to say something else, but was stopped by someone else’s - maybe Sam’s - muffled voice.

_ “You don’t know that!” _ Peter’s shouts continued in response - and they sounded so broken, so choked with tears, Steve had to drop his head into his hands.  _ “You don’t know anything. I don’t know anything! This is uncharted territory! No one’s Pops had ever thrown then to terrorists!”  _ Steve shuddered, a chill seeping into his bones.  _ “And I’m an Avenger! I should’ve been able to fight my way out but I didn’t! Am I even worthy to be here?” _

Tony’s sobs were the only sounds that broke the silence in the kitchen. Steve couldn’t even lift his head from his hands as he listened to Tony’s cries, shedding a few tears himself - but not as much as Tony was. Steve had already come to terms with his situation, with the hopelessness Peter felt, with how much he himself had screwed up. He knew there was no chance of fixing the mess he had created.

Steve let his hands drop but kept his head bowed, having no energy to lift it. Even Tony’s sobs had subsided. It seemed as though the true weight of the world had fallen on them, collapsed in on this very kitchen, and now the two of them were left to carry the burden of it - but they didn’t know if they could.

Steve heard creaks on the staircase and he shot his head up, sharing a worried ( _ terrified _ ) expression with Tony just before the presence made itself known at the doorway. It was Bucky looking down at- with his arm wrapped supportively around-

“ _ Peter. _ ” The name ripped its way from Tony’s throat, and he started forward, arms outstretched, falling to one knee in front of Peter. Peter stared back at him as if he were… as if he were a  _ stranger _ . Steve watched the two of them, feeling like a bullet had ripped through his heart.

“Peter, baby, I would  _ never  _ kick you out. I would never… I would never kick you out.” He was repeating the words in a desperate attempt for Peter to understand, but Peter’s expression was unwavering. “There’s nothing -  _ nothing _ \- you could do to make me…. Oh,  _ Peter _ .”

Peter didn’t react. He did, however, take a small step backward when Steve moved toward them. In an instant Bucky was stepping forward, the hand that was previously gripping Peter’s shoulder now in front of his chest protectively, Peter’s wide, brown eyes sticking out from behind Bucky’s wide frame.

Steve kept his movements slow, predictable, keeping his head bowed and eye contact with Bucky the entire time as he stepped toward Tony and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tony allowed Steve to guide him back, all the while never letting his eyes move from Peter’s. Steve’s heart dropped to his shoes when he realized that Peter, their son, was now scared of his parents and was taking cover between a man who used to be Steve’s best friend; but the two of them were now closer to enemies.

Bucky slowly let his arm drop after watching Steve warily for a moment, like he was an attack dog waiting for a threat. He turned his head slightly behind him so he could see Peter and whispered, “It’s okay.”

Another scratch etched its way onto Steve’s heart.  _ It’s okay _ , Bucky had said.  _ There’s no threat _ was what he had meant -  _ your Pops won’t hurt you. Not now, at least _ .

Steve felt like crying.

Peter stepped out from behind Bucky and looked up at Steve and Tony, before letting his eyes flick up to Bucky’s. Bucky nodded with a small smile, resting a small hand on Peter’s back, both providing comfort and urging him on as Peter returned his gaze to Steve.

Steve felt as though the world had fallen away beneath them. It was just him and Peter, the two watching each other, but neither wanting to move, speak,  _ breathe _ , because this was it. This was the moment that these last four days had been leading up to. The verdict. Steve’s decision all that time ago, his horrible, horrible decision, had finally caught up to him.

In an ideal world, his family never would have known. They would have never figured it out. Steve would’ve taken down Sitwell on his own, and all Tony would see him as would be a hero - and Steve would go to bed at night, resting uneasily, because he would know that it was all a lie. He would know that the cuts on the skin of the child he kissed goodnight had been put there by him. The nightmares that haunted Peter would be haunting him, too. He would know the truth - but Tony wouldn’t know.  _ Peter  _ wouldn’t know - and would that be so bad? If Steve still had his family, what’s the worst thing that could happen?

“Steve.” Peter’s voice was quiet, but sure, his words planned and well thought out - _ including the use of the word Steve and not Pops _ , Steve realized with a shudder. Peter knew what was going to happen, but no one else seemed to know, not even Bucky. He was standing beside Peter in silent support. Tony was leaning against Steve’s side, tears streaming down his face, while Steve himself had his jaw set in a thin line. Steve didn’t know for sure what was coming… but he could predict it. And, really, he always knew. He always figured.

He just wished he savoured the moments when he hadn’t.

“I can’t….” Peter took a breath, looked up at Bucky. Bucky nodded reassuringly, and Peter made eye contact with Steve - but this time, it was… different. Peter’s eyes were hardened, more determined. He was getting his message out. He was saying what he had to say. Steve took a breath in anticipation. This was it.

“I can’t…  _ live _ ,” Peter continued, “with you here. It seems like everything I do, wherever I go, you’re always hovering over me, and I can’t….” Peter stopped again, took another breath. Steve found himself leaning forward in his chair, desperate for the final answer, and he didn’t have the strength to pull himself back.

“You have to leave.”

Steve’s world came to a grinding halt. The hands on the clock stopped moving. The world stopped spinning. Peter’s words seemed to materialize in the air, blaring red, block letters that haunted him, growing larger and larger until they  _ were  _ his world.

“Not… not forever,” Peter continued, softer, almost sympathetic - but not quite there. “Just… I can’t think. You’re here, and I can’t forgive you. Not now….” His voice got quieter and he looked at the ground, shuffling his feet. “Maybe not… ever. But I don’t know, I can’t  _ ever  _ know, if you’re here.”

Steve swallowed heavily, his chest feeling a pressure that he was sure exhibited a chronic illness.

“What… what do you want me to do? Where do I  _ go? _ ”  _ My only world is here _ , Steve wanted to say,  _ with the love of my life and my son and my home and my  _ family. What does one do when asked to leave their world, the only one they’ve ever known, ever lived in, ever  _ loved _ , behind?

“Not here,” Peter whispered, shaking his head slowly. “I just- I- I need you to  _ go _ .”

Peter began to cry, soft, quiet tears, and Steve wanted, more than anything else in the world, to run his thumb along Peter’s cheek and wipe them off, just one more time. He reached a slow hand forward, but Peter stepped back, shaking his head. His eyes fluttered closed. He couldn’t even  _ look  _ at Steve.

That was the last straw.

That was it. It was time to go. No more chances. No more conversations, no more  _ words _ .

Steve hadn’t realized Tony was crying until he heard his name, said in a sob, behind him.

“ _ Steve. _ ”

And though it hurt him, though it physically pained him to, though the action felt like it was ripping Steve apart from the inside out and went against the programming at the base of his  _ soul _ , Steve didn’t respond. He didn’t even look back. He swallowed,  _ hard _ , kept his eyes facing forward, focused his attention on the single hallway in front of him that led to who knows where, studied every single aspect he could in case of the very real possibility that he never came back here again, swallowed his tears, and moved his feet.

One in front of the other, step after step after step, Steve walked past his family - first Tony, then Peter, then Bucky - leaving them all behind. One in front of the other, step after step after step, Steve walked up the stairs to his bedroom, grabbed a random pile of clothes, blinked back tears, and threw them into his backpack. One in front of the other, step after step after step, Steve walked back down the stairs and straight out the front door without a glance back.

One in front of the other, step after step after step, Steve left his world behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, you may be thinking, J, you said this was the last chapter. It's not a good conclusion. Pretty sucky, actually. Well, that's because...  
> THERE'S A SEQUEL!!!  
> Yes! I will be writing a Come Back to Me sequel, with new characters, focusing on Peter's recovery and Steve's life after leaving his family! Will he get his redemption? You'll have to wait and see! I'm so excited for you guys to read it!!  
> I love you all!! <3


	26. Sequel

The sequel is finally up! I'm sorry it took so long, but chapter one is up now under the title  _I've Come Too Far_! I hope you all enjoy it! <3

 


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